
Class _Zfijll6- 

Book__ . 

Gop>Tight ls° 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSrC 




RALPH WALDO EMERSON 











I^Vom Day to Day 
With the Poets 












COMPILED BY 

MARY E. SALISBURY 












NEW YORK 

BARSE & HOPKINS 

PUBLISHERS 











Copyright, IPll, 

BT 

BARSE 6c HOPKIXS 



-^ 



^1 



^^ 



©aA<J924':»9 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH 
THE POETS 

JANUARY 

January First 

Join with me a-moralizing, 

This day's propitious to be wise in. 

First, what did yesternight deliver? 
"Another year has gone for ever.'' 
And what is this day's strong suggestion? 
"The passing moment's all we rest on!" 
The voice of Nature loudly cries, 
And many a message from the skies, 
That something in us never dies ; 
That on this frail, uncertain state 
Hang matters of eternal weight ; 
That future-life in worlds unknown 
Must take its hue from this alone ; 
Whether as heavenly glory bright. 
Or dark as misery's woful night.—- 
Let us th' important Now employ, 
And live as those that never die. 
Others may claim your chief regard : 
Yourself, you wait your bright reward. 

Bwrns. 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

x^ yfK y^ 'A\ y^ /^ xjx xix xjx y|x /^ viv '/J^ 'm^k y^ y^ 'j^ yf^ 

January Second 

The old order changeth, yielding place to new, 
And God fulfils himself in many ways, 
Lest one good custom should corrupt the world. 

Tennyson. 

January Third 

God works in all things ; all obey 

His first propulsion from the night. 

Ho ! Wake and watch ! The world is gray 
With morning light. 

Whittier. 

January Fourth 

To make this earth, our hermitage, 
A cheerful and a changeful page, 
God's bright and intricate device 
Of days and seasons doth sufBce. 

Stevenson. 

January Fifth 

To know the old element explore a new. 
And in the second reappears the first. 
The specious panorama of a year 
But multiplies the image of a day. 

Emerson. 

[8] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

'W >l< W >;^ W ViV Hv w viv viv >?^>^ >;< VK T^y^y^'/i^ 

January Sixth 

Innocent child and snow-white flower ! 
Well are ye paired in your opening hour. 
Thus should the pure and the lovely meet, 
Stainless with stainless, and sweet with sweet. 

Bri/ant, 
January Seventh 

By what astrology of fear or hope 

Dare I to cast thy horoscope ! 

Like the new moon thy life appears ; 

A little strip of silver light. 

And widening outward into night 

The shadowy disk of future years: 

And yet upon its outer rim, 

A luminous circle, faint and dim, 

And scarcely visible to us here. 

Rounds and completes the perfect sphere; 

A prophecy and intimation, 

A pale and feeble adumbration, 

Of the great world of light, that lies 

Behind all human destinies. — Longfellow. 

January Eighth 

O, world, as God has made it! all is beauty: 

And knowing this, is love, and love is duty. 

What further may be sought for or declared? 

Browning. 

[9] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 
yfK yi< jr^< /iK x^x x+x /^^ ax x^x x^v /♦v x^v x^x /^^x /^v x^x /$< /^k 

Jaxuaey Ninth 

Who is Queen of Baby-land? 
Mother, kind and sweet ; 
And her love 
Born above, 
Guides the little feet. 

Eugerm Field. 
Jaxuaey Tenth 

We live in deeds, not years ; in thoughts, not 

breaths ; 
In feelings, not in figures on a dial. 
We should count time by heart-throbs. He most 

lives 
Who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best. 

Bailey, 
January Eleventh 

A bond at birth is forged ; a debt doth lie 
Immortal on mortahty. It grows — 
By vast rebound it grows, unceasing growth; 
Gift upon gift, alms upon alms, upreared. 
From man, from God, from nature, till the soul 
At that so huge indulgence stands amazed. 

Stevenson. 
January Twelfth 

Brief is life, but love is long. 

Tennyson. 

[10] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

"W w w w w w v^ v^ w w^iv w V4V Hv w viv viv >;*( 

January Thirteenth 

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting; 

The soul that rises with us, our life's star, 
Hath had elsewhere its setting, 
And Cometh from afar. 

Not in entire forgetfulness. 
And not in utter nakedness, 
But trailing clouds of glory, do we come 
From God, who is our home. — Wordsworth. 

January Fourteenth 

Thou canst make this life a Hell, 
Or Jacob's-ladder up to Heaven. 
Let not thy baptism in Life's wave 
Make thee like him whom Homer sings — 
A sleeper in a living grave. 
Callous and hard to outward things ; 
But open all thy soul and sense 
To every blessed influence 
That from the heart of Nature springs. 

Lowell. 
January Fifteenth 

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant! 

Let the dead Past bury its dead ! 
Act, — act in the living Present ! 

Heart within, and God o'erhead! 

Longfellow. 

[11] 



FEO^I DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

>i^ >^x >4*;^ >4X -0i< >>< >♦< >♦*( >♦< >4*k >4V >4X >4»k y^x y^x /^x >^x >4V 

Jaxuaey Sixtzznth 

Falsehoods which we spurn to-day 
Were the truths of long ago ; 

Let the dead boughs fall away, 
Fresher shajl the living grow. 

Whittkr. 

Jaxuajiy Szvzxtzznth 

Progress is 
The Law of life — man is not Man as yet. 
Nor shall I deem his object served, his end 
Attained, his genuine strength put fairly forth, 
While only here and there a star dispels 
The darkness, here and there a towering mind 
O'erlooks its prostrate fellows: when the host 
Is out at once to the despair of night, 
When all mankind ahke is perfected. 
Equal in full-blown powers — then, not till then, 
I say, begins man's general infancy. 

Browmng. 
Januaey Eightzzxth 

Life is too short to waste 
The critic bite or cynic bark, 
Quarrel, or reprimand ; 
'Twill soon be dark; 
L^p ! mind thine own aim, and 
God speed the mark. 

Emerson. 

[12] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

>^ W >K Viv 'A^ y^ vi< W y^ y^y^ y^ y^ Viv y|y viv y^y y^ 

January Nineteenth 

Nature has placed thee on a changeful tide. 
To breast its waves, but not without a guide. 

Holmes, 
January Twentieth 

Heaven is not reached by a single bound, 
But we build the ladder by which we rise 
From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies, 

And we mount to its summit round by round. 

J. 6r. Holland. 

January Twenty-first 

Late lies the wintry sun a-bed, 
A frosty, fiery sleepy-head ; 
Blinks but an hour or two ; and then, 
A blood-red orange, sets again. . . • 
Black are my steps on silver sod ; 
Thick blows my frosty breath abroad ; 
And tree and house, and hill and lake, 
Are frosted like a wedding-cake. 

Stevenson. 

January Twenty-second 

Happy the man, and happy he alone, 
He who can call to-day his own ; 
He who, secure within, can say. 
To-morrow, do thy worst, for I have lived to- 
day. — Dry den. 

1 13 ] 



FROM DAY TO DAT WITH T^ 

j^ li^*^ «^* *-'.'i t^t ti* i;» t. » i.x » ■ 1 I ; »" "t, » «.;» "«..i" 



'^x— ^T^ T»±-5w" : 



JAxrAXT Tvz:>-tt-j:txth 





*- 




J. 


•n 


! T 




- 


- 




±_2r 


r^T Z 












_ 
















_ 














T 




















> 

X 




























izii 








— . 






_ . 




- " 




















T 






' ' T 



I i^ 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

January Twenty-seventh 
The life which is, and that which is to come, 
Suspended hang in such nice equipoise 
A breath disturbs the balance; and that scale 
In which we throw our hearts preponderates. 

Longfellow. 

January Twenty-eighth 

The song is old and simple that I sing: 

Good were the days of yore, when men were tried 

By ring of shields, as now by ring of gold; 

But, while the gods are left, and hearts of men, 

And the free ocean, still the days are good ; 

Through the broad Earth roams Opportunity 

And knocks at every door of hut or hall, 

Until she finds the brave soul that she wants. 

^ r^ Lowell. 

January Twenty-ninth 

He who hath led will lead 

All through the wilderness; 
He who hath fed will feed; 

He who hath blessed will bless ; 
He who hath heard thy cry 

Will never close His ear ; 
He who hath marked thy faintest sigh 

Will not forget thy tear. 
He loveth always, f aileth never ; 

So rest on Him, to-day, forever ! 

Havergdl. 

[15] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

>jx >;x y^v >;►> x;^v >;< >;x >*v >;v >;x^;^ >^v v;v >^v f^^ y^x >ix >ix 

Jaxuaet Thirtieth 

The child, the seed, the grain of corn. 

The acorn on the hill, 

Each for some separate end is bom 

In season fit, and still 

Each must in strength arise to work 

The almighty will. 

Sietfenson. 

Januaey Thirty-first 

In God's own might 
We gird us for the coming fight ; 
And, strong in Him whose cause is ours 
In conflict with unholy powers, 
We grasp the weapons He has given, — 
The Light, the Truth, and Love of Hearen. 

Whit tier. 



[16] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 



FEBRUARY 



February First 

I love thee — I love theel 
'Tis all that I can say ; — 

It is my vision in the night. 
My dreaming in the day ; 

The very echo of my heart, 
The blessing when I pray. 



Hood. 



February Second 

Slow pass our days 
In childhood, and the hours of light are long 
Betwixt the morn and eve; with swifter lapse 
They glide in manhood, and in age they fly ; 
Till days and seasons flit before the mind 
As flit the snow-flakes in a winter storm. 
Seen rather than distinguished. 

Bri/ant. 

[H] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

>4X >4y >♦< >*v Ai< >iv >^x >^v x^ >tV ^tx #;x >;x >^y >;v x^x >♦< >^ 

FEBErAEY ThIED 

God's gift was that man should conceive of truth 
And veam to gain it, catcliing at mistake. 
As midway help till he reach fact indeed — 
Yet all the while goes changing what was 

wrought 
From falsehood like the truth, to truth itself. 

Brou'ning. 

Febbuaey Foubth 

Each, where his tasks or pleasures call, 
Thev pass, and heed each other not. 

There is Who heeds, who holds them all. 
In His large love and boundless thought. 

These struggling tides of Kfe that seem 
In wayward, aimless course to tend, 

Are eddies of the mighty stream 
That rolls to its appointed end. 

Bryant. 

Februaby Fifth 

Affection never was wasted; 
If it enrich not the heart of another, its waters, 

returning 
Back to their springs, Hke the rain, shaU fill 
them full of refreshment. 

LongfeUaw^ 

[18] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

54V V|V ViV ViV y|V V4V W V^ W W >l^ W V4V >j»: v^ v^ w w 

February Sixth 
That one unquestioned text we read, 

All doubt beyond, all fear above, 
Nor crackling pile nor cursing creed 
Can burn or blot it: God is Love. 

Holmes. 
February Seventh 
Alas ! such is our nature ! all but aim 
At the same end by pathways not the same ; 
Our means, our birth, our nation, and our name, 
Our fortune, temper, even our outward frame, 
Are far more potent o'er our yielding clay 
Than aught we know beyond our little day. 
Yet still there whispers the small voice within. 
Heard through Gain's silence, and o'er Glory's 

din: 
Whatever creed be taught, or land be trod, 
Man's conscience is the oracle of God. — Byron. 

February Eighth 
The night is calm and beautiful; the snow 
Sparkles beneath the clear and frosty moon 
And the cold stars, as if it took delight 
In its own silent whiteness ; the hushed earth 
Sleeps in the soft arms of the embracing blue, 
Sleep then, O Earth, in thy blue-vaulted cradle, 
Bent over always by thy mother Heaven ! 
We all are tall enough to reach God's hand, 
And angels are no taller. — Lowell. 

[191 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

>i< >iv >^ >^ >^ v;v '«;v Vt< >**^ >t^ >tV >^ >^ >tV >^\ >^x >^\ y^v 

Februaky Ninth 

Live not without a friend 1 The Alpine rock 

must own 
Its mossy grace, or else be nothing but a stone. 
Live not without a God I however low or high. 
In everv house should be a window to the sky. 

W. W, Story. 

February Tenth 

blest retirement ! friend to life's decline — 
How blest is he who crowns in shades like these 

A youth of Labor with an age of ease. 

Goldsmith, 

February Eleventh 

Ah, how skilful grows the hand 
That obeveth Love's conmiand! 
It is the heart, and not the brain, 
That to the highest doth attain, 
And he who f oUoweth Love's behest 
Far exceedeth all the rest I 

LongfcUozo. 

February Twelfth 

Truth is witliin ourselves: it takes no rise 
From outward thino^s, whatever you may believe. 
There is an inmost center in us all. 
Where truth abides in fulness, 

Brozcning, 

[20] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

February Thirteenth 

Man, like the gen'rous vine, supported lives ; 
The strength he gains is from the embrace he 

gives. 
On their own axis as the planets run, 
Yet make at once their circle round the sun ; 
So two consistent motions act the soul; 
And one regards itself, and one the whole. 
Thus God and Nature linked the general frame. 
And bade Self-love and Social be the same. 

Pope. 
February Fourteenth 

O grant me, God, from every care, 

And stain of passion free, 
Aloft, through virtue's purer air, 

To hold my course to Thee ! 

Moore. 

February Fifteenth 

Oh, that the vacant eye would learn to look. 

On very beauty, and the heart embrace 
True loveliness, and from this holy book 

Drink the warm-breathing tenderness and 
grace 
Of love Indeed ! Oh, that the young soul took 

Its virgin passion from the glorious face 
Of fair religion, and addressed its strife. 
To win the riches of eternal life ! — Hood. 

[21] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

W w >?< vi< viv wv yiy.y^'AK'j^y^'M^y^yiK y^y^w^ y^ 

Februauy Sixteenth 
The "good old times'' — all times when old are 

good — 
Are gone; the present might be if they would; 
Great things have been, and are, and greater still 
Want little of mere mortals but their will: 
A wider space, a greener field, is given 
To those who play their "tricks before high 

heaven." 
I know not if the angels weep, but men 
Have wept enough — -for what? — to weep again! 

Byron. 
February Seventeenth 

For thy life. 
Up, spirit, and defend that fort of clay. 
Thy body, now beleaguered ; whether soon 
Or late she fall ; whether to-day thy friends 
Bewail thee dead, or, after years, a man 
Grown old in honor and the friend of peace. 

Stevenson. 
February Eighteenth 
Complain ! when God has been so good to me, 

And when his blessings with my days increase, 
Giving for every day of misery 

A recompense of tranquil days of peace: 
Even as the morning with her smiles and light 
Is over-payment for the weary night. 

Phcebe Gary. 

[22] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

"W >?< W >?< y^ >?< y^y^'M^ i^y^ W >?< W >?< v?< >?< y^ 

February Nineteenth 

0, human love! thou spirit given, 
On Earth, of all we hope In Heaven ! 

Poe. 
February Twentieth 
Then let us cheerf u' acquiesce ; 
Nor make our scanty pleasures less, 

By pining at our state ; 
And, even should misfortune come, 

1, here wha sit, hae met wi' some, 
An's thankfu' for them yet. 

They gie the wit of age to youth; 

They let us ken oursel ; 
They mak us see the naked truth, 
The real guid and ill. 
Tho' losses, and crosses, 
Be lessons right severe. 
There's wit there, ye'U get there, 
Ye'U find nae other where. — Burns. 

February Twenty-first 
Eternal Truth ! Beyond our hopes and fears 
Sweep the vast orbits of thy myriad spheres ! 
From age to age while History carves sublime 
On her waste rock the flaming curves of time, 
How the wild swayings of our planet show 
That worlds unseen surround the world we 
know ! — Holmes. 

[23] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

y^ 'M9^ Ji^C If^i JUPC 1^ j^ M^ M^ jt^ jt^ M^x ,.x »,i i,x *> ■*:»' 'mIx 

Febsuasy TwE>rrT-sEco>rD 
Man wsLS made of social earth, 
Chfld and brother from his birth ; 
Tethered by a liquid cord 
Of blood throogfa yeins of kindred poured. 

Ewiersan. 

FzBKrABT TwE5rrT-THI»J> 

I pray thee call not this socktj; 

I asked for bread, tboa grrest me a stone : 

I ajDd an hungered, and I find not one 

To giTe me meat, to joy or grieTe with me ; 

I find not here what I went out to see — 

Soak of true miai, of Tomen who can more 

The deeper, better part of us to love, 

Sools that can hold with mine communion free. 

Alas! nmst tiien these hopes, these longings 

hi^ 
This yearning of the soid for brotheihood. 
And all that makes us pure, and wise, and good. 
Come broken-hearted, hcmie again to dfe? 
No, Hope is left, and prays with bended heaid, 
'HjiTe us this day, O God, oar daily breadP* 

FE:BauA5.T T— ZNTT-Fousxa 
In Nature there's no bleniisli bat the mind; 
None can be called deformed bat tiie wnkind, 

Shakespeare. 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

>j< w w j^y^i^ w >i< w >ioi^ viv w< VK viv viv v^y vk 

February Twenty-fifth 

The heart has needs beyond the head. 

And, starving in the plenitude 

Of strange gifts, craves its common food, — 
Our human nature's daily bread. — Whittier, 

February Twenty-sixth 

Oh! not by bread alone is manhood nourished 

To its supreme estate ! 
By every word of God have lived and flourished 
The good men and the great. 
Ay, not by bread alone ! 

J. G. Holland. 

February Twenty-seventh 

Nature, so far as in her lies. 

Imitates God, and turns her face 
To every land beneath the skies, 

Counts nothing that she meets with base, 
But lives and loves in every place. 

Tennyson. 

February Twenty-eighth 

Let us no more contend, nor blame 

Each other, blamed enough elsewhere, but strive, 

In offices of love, how we may lighten 

Each other's burden, in our share of woe. 

Milton. 

[25] 



fro:.: day to day with the poets 



g^\ *,v »,*. t^x »,» f^x i,» M,x t^x i,x f,* i^x <,v »,» i,x i^x t^x »«X 

All we ha' r -l^ed or hoped or dreamed of good 
shall exist; 
Not its spmhiance, but itself; no beauty, nor 
good, nor power 
Whose Toice has gone forth but each surviTcs 
for the melodist 
When eternity affirms the conceptions of an 
hour. 
The high that proved too hi^i, the heroic for 
T r:h too hard. 
The p:*si.on that left the gTound to lose itself 
in the sky. 
Are music sent up tc G: : : Jr zyer and the 
bard; 
£nonghthatHehe :I :: :: r : weshallhearit 
bj-and-by. 

Brooming. 



[26] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

VjV W Hv viv viv '/(< y|v >t>; >;>; y^">?? hv hv h^ viv >}y vjv v?< 



MARCH 

March First 

Just to let thy Father do 

What He will; 
Just to know that He is true, 

And be still. 
Just to follow hour by hour 

As He leadeth; 
Just to draw the moment's power 

As it needeth. 
Just to trust Him, this is all! 

Then the day will surely be 
Peaceful, whatsoe'er befall. 

Bright and blessed, calm 
and free. 

Havergal. 



March Second 

Ah, March! we know thou art 

Kind-hearted, spite of ugly looks and threats, 
And, out of sight, art nursing 

April's violets. 

H. H. Jackson. 

[27] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 
,^x ..X M^x -^x *^' •♦»k' «^' -t^ ,*^ >^ x^" >^" >i^ j^9i j9€ ji^ ji^i :p^ 

IIabcb: Thzi3 

Every mfment as :" z 

Some pccolb:- ^ : ~rS. 

Conae, then, pr 

Sdrotiiedet — jUnnfL 



Tliere is a pfeasor^ 

There is a rap 
There is society, iriiere ncaie ni 
By the deep se- - ^ _ - -:- :_ 



The tidal w 
Into oar 

And Ml 

Oat c: 



Hith he not always tr^ ' - ; friaids, 

TLe good great man? . .- :. . .. : „ -5, — Iotc, 

^ and light. 
And cahn thonghti, regular a^ infant's breath; 
And *: 7 7 ~ :'n: : r: fn :. . rn : 7 r 5nre than day and 

H Death. 

Coieridge. 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

>4x x^x xix /\\ yi(K yfK yfK n'^ yf< y^y^ A^ x^x y^ yfK W W >K 

March Seventh 
No need of sulphurous lake, 

No need of fiery coal. 
But only that crowd of human kind 

Who wanted pity and dole — 
In everlasting retrospect — 

Will wring my sinful soul! — Hood, 

March Eighth 

Then gently scan your brother Man, 

Still gentler sister Woman ; 
Tho' they may gang a kennin wrang, 

To step aside is human: 
One point must still be greatly dark, 

The moving Why they do It ; 
And just as lamely can ye mark, 

How far perhaps they rue it. — Burns. 

March Ninth 
For this is love's nobility, 
Not to scatter bread and gold, 
Goods and raiment bought and sold. 
But to hold fast his simple sense. 
And speak the speech of Innocence, 
And with hand, and body, and blood, 
To make his bosom-counsel good: 
For he that feeds men, serveth few. 
He serves all, who dares be true. 

Emerson. 

[ 29 ] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

y'ix ii^ M^K /^ /^ j^ y^ y^ j^ '/^ 

Maech Tenth 
Beauty, Good, and Knowledge, are three sisters 
That doat upon each other, friends to man, 
Living together under the same roof, 
And never can be sunder'd without tears. 
And he that shuts Love out, in turn shall be 
Shut out from Love, and on her threshold lie 
Howling in outer darkness. Not for this 
Was common clay ta*en from the common earth, 
Moulded by God, and tempered with the tears 
Of angels to the perfect shape of man. 

Tennyson. 
March Eleventh 

There is a history in all men's lives. 
Figuring the nature of the times deceased ; 
The which observ'd, a man may prophesy, 
With a near aim. of the main chance of things 
As yet not come to life ; which in their seeds 
And weak bemnnincrs lie intreasured. 

Shakespeare, 

March Twelfth 

Well to suffer is divine; 

Pass the watchword down the hne. 

Pass the countersign: '"Endure." 
Not to him who rashly dares, 
But to him who nobly bears. 

Is the victor's garland sure. — Whittier. 

[SO] 



I 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

y^K yf< y^\ yf< -/^ yit^'K y^ y^ y^ y^Ky^y^ '/^ y^ '/Ik 'm^ y^ y^ 

March Thirteenth 

Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again; 

The eternal years of God are hers ; 
But Error, wounded, writhes with pain. 
And dies among his worshippers. 

Bryant, 
March Fourteenth 
Look at thy heart, and when its depths are 

known, 
Then try thy brother's, judging by thine own, 
But keep thy wisdom to the narrow range. 
While its own standards are the sport of change. 
Nor ask mankind to tremble, and obey 
The passing breath that holds thy passion's 
sway. — Holmes. 

March Fifteenth 
'Tis not in pleasure's idle hour 
That thou canst know affection's power. 
No, try its strength in grief or pain ; 

Attempt as now its bonds to sever. 
Thou'lt find true love's a chain 

That binds forever ! — Moore. 

March Sixteenth 
Love rules the court, the camp, the grove, 
All men below and saints above ; 
For love is heaven, and heaven is love. 

Scott. 

[31] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

Mix i,x >;» M,x >»v >;» .> ».» M,x »> r,v i> ,;* ,;» v.* t^jt^j/^ 



And not a drop : - : :ni our C _: ^ ~ ' ~ 
For Carth to drii^ : i* :iiav s:- ~ 

To quench the n: r : : _-._^ J.sh in sc t Z^ e 
Tr.T : „ 1 iaa — ^far b^ieath, and long ago. 

As zs.i:L lie Tulip for her morning sup 

Of HeaT-'nlj Vintage from the soil looks op. 

Do Tou deToutlv do the Kke. till HeaT^n 
Tj E.^rth [7.' -Tt ycu — liie an empty Gop- 

Omar Khaygaau 

Fc»±une! take back these colhired lands. 

Take hack this name of splendid sound! 
I hate the touch of servile hands, 

I hate the slaves that cringe around. 
Place me among tl^ rocks I love. 

Which sound to oce..z's ~lie?t roar; 
I ask but tins — again :: 

Through scenes my t : _: .:. ;. : h known before. 

Btfrom. 

AIa-:z y-:z7Zzy7E: 
TjBnoskg Cfn E :\- : . reverent meekness 

His cmr. :: 
And with ..:^ irom Him shall thy utter 

life's task fulfill — WhittUr. 

[32] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

March Twentieth 
Go where he will, the wise man is at home. 
His hearth the earth ; — his hall the azure dome ; 
Where his clear spirit leads him, there's his road, 
By God's own light illumined and foreshowed. 

Emerson. 

March Twenty-first 
Sweet Auburn ! loveliest village of the plain. 
Where health and plenty cheered the laboring 

swain, 
Where smiling spring its earliest visit paid, 
And parting summer's lingering blooms delay'd : 
Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease. 
Seats of my youth, when every sport could 

please. 
How often have I loiter'd o'er thy green. 
Where humble happiness endear'd each scene! 

Goldsmith. 

March Twenty-second 
As the palm-tree standeth so straight and so 

tall. 
The more the hail beats, and the more the rains 

fall,— 
So love in our hearts shall grow mighty and 

strong, 
Through crosses, through sorrows, through 

manifold wrong. — Longfellow. 

[33] 



FBOM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 



t;x t,\ r,\ r.x r;t r.i f,\ t ,\ 



i.-i V't" ~t,\ 'r> >> ^Jf 






v:' 



: >Tr-i»oi5«:iit 



}^l 



r botfc? 



Liilr 3. 



Cflff. 



-r. r , 



v.- -^. 



zc^orilL 



[»*] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

March Twenty-seventh 
Joy comes, grief goes, we know not how; 
Everything is happy now, 

Everything is upward striving ; 
'Tis easy now for the heart to be true 
As for grass to be green or skies to be blue, — 
'Tis the natural way of living. 

Lowell. 

March Twenty-eighth 
Oh, what a dawn of day ! 
How the March sun feels like May ! 
All is blue again 
After last night's rain, 
And the South dries the hawthorn-spray, 

Only, my Love's away ! 
I'd as lief that the blue were gray. 

Browning. 

March Twenty-ninth 
Can ye take off the sweetness from the flower, 
The color and the sweetness from the rose, 
And place them by themselves ; or set apart 
Their motions and their brightness from the 

stars, 
And then point out the flower or the star? 
Or build a wall betwixt my life and love. 
And tell me where I am? 'Tis even thus: 
In that I live I love. — Tennyson. 

[35] 



FEOM DAY TO DAY WTTM THE POETS 

>^< *i< >♦* »♦» «;»k^ 'H^ 1^ >♦< 'V^ «#«i **v •♦* *^* «^< -tjic -j^ y^ 1^ 

Mjlech Thzztzzth 

The wind o' :. t ~: -:er 

It breats iiiio olaom 
And STiddenlj songs 

Are sung in the gloom. 

Eugene Fidd, 



Mazjh Thdity-fikst 

O to be up : ^ . 

Unf earing anc i^ed to go 

In all the upro^i ^i.^ die press 
About my human business! 
My undissuaded I^art I hear 
Whisper courage in mj ear. 
With voiceless caHs, the ancioit earth 
Summons me to a daily birth. 
Thou, O my lore, ye, O my friends — 
The gist of life, the end of ends — 
To laugh, to loTe, to lire, to die. 
Ye call me by the ear and eye! 

Eclc'ri LjuIs Sfevensom. 



[36] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 



APRIL 

April First 

The Night Is mother of the Day, 

The Winter of the Spring, 
And ever upon old Decay 

The greenest mosses cHng. 
Behind the cloud the starlight lurks, 

Through showers the sunbeams fall ; 
For God, who loveth all his works, 

Has left his Hope with all! 

Whit tier. 



April Second 

The year's at the spring 
And day's at the morn ; 
Morning's at seven; 
The hillside's dew-pearled; 
The lark's on the wing; 
The snail's on the thorn : 
God's in His Heaven — 
All's right with the world ! 

Bronming. 

[37] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

xix xix y|x xjv xiv x^\ x|y x^ x^ y^yi'K y|V w >|< >|< >;y y^ >k 

April Third 

Dear God and Father of us all. 
Forgive our faith in cruel lies, — 
Forgive the blindness that denies ! 

Forgive thy creature when he takes 
For the all-perfect love thou art. 
Some grim creation of his heart. 

Whittier. 
April Fourth 

More things are wrought by prayer 
Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let 

thy voice 
Rise like a fountain for m^e night and day. 
For what are men better than sheep or goats 
That nourish a blind life within the brain. 
If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer 
Both for themselves and those who call them 

friend? 
For so the whole round earth is every way 
Bound by gold chains about the feet of God. 

Tennyson. 
April Fifth 

Yes, Love is ever busy with his shuttle, 
Is ever weaving into life's dull warp 
Bright, gorgeous flowers and scenes Arcadian. 

Longfellow. 

[38] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

yix xix x^ x^x y^ y^ >^x y^y^y^y^ Viv viv v^ y^ >?*c w v;^ 

April Sixth 

These golden Buttercups are April's seal, — 

The Daisy stars her constellation be: 
These grew so lowly, I was forced to kneel, 
Therefore I pluck no Daisies but for thee ! 

Hood. 
April Seventh 

Violet! dear Violet! 
Thy blue eyes are only wet 
With joy and love of him who sent thee, 
And, for the fulfilling sense 
Of that glad obedience 

Which made thee all which Nature meant thee ! 

LowelL 
April Eighth 

Thy heart — thy heart! — I wake and sigh, 

And sleep to dream till day 
Of the truth that gold can never buy — 
Of the baubles that it may. 

Foe. 
April Ninth 

Two things greater than all things are, 
The first is Love, and the second War. 
And since we know not how War may prove. 
Heart of my heart, let us talk of Love ! 

Kipli/ng. 

[39] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

W 'j^ v*v '/^y^y^Ki^ y(K w W^iV y^ v^ wv wv >i< wv y^ 

April Tenth 

Heaven to mankind Impartial we confess, 
If all are equal in their happiness : 
But mutual wants this happiness Increase, 
All nature's difference keeps all nature's peace. 

Pope. 

April Eleventh 

Look on this beautiful world, and read the truth 
In her fair page ; see, every season brings 
New change, to her, of everlasting youth; 
Still the green soil, with joyous living things, 
Swarms, the wide air is full of joyous wings. 
And myriads, still, are happj^ in the sleep 
Of ocean's azure gulfs, and where he flings 
The restless surge. Eternal Love doth keep 
In his complacent arms, the earth, the air, the 
deep. 

Bryant. 

April Twelfth 

Life may bring to you every good 

Which from a Father's hand can fall; 

But if true lips have said to me, 
"I love you," I have known it all ! 

Phasbe Cary. 

[40] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

x^x y^ jq< y(< -^ y(K y^ y^ '/^ y^y^y^ y^ yfK y^ '/f< yf< yf< 

April Thirteenth 

Like souls that balance joy and pain, 
With tears and smiles from heaven again 
The maiden Spring upon the plain 
Came in a sunlit fall of rain. 

In crystal vapor everywhere 
Blue isles ' of heaven laugh'd between, 
And, far in forest-deeps unseen. 
The topmost elm-tree gathered green 

From draughts of balmy air. 

Termyson. 

April Fourteenth 

The sound of the rain 

Which leaps down to the flower, 
And dances again 

In the rhythm of the shower — 
The murmur that springs 

From the growing of grass 
Are the music of things. — Poe. 

April Fifteenth 

The rain has spoiled the farmer's day ; 

Shall sorrow put my books away.'^ 

Thereby are two days lost: 

Nature shall mind her own affairs, 

I will attend my proper cares. 

In rain, or sun, or frost. — Emerson. 

[41] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

April Sixteenth 
Be thou the rainbow to the storms of Hf e ! 
The evening beam that smiles the clouds away, 
And tints to-morrow with prophetic ray. 

Byron. 
April Seventeenth 
O, how this spring of love resembleth 

The uncertain glory of an April day ; 
Which now shows all the beauty of the sun, 
And by-and-by a cloud takes all away ! 

Shakespeare. 

April Eighteenth 
Know thou this truth, which the creeds can not 

smother, 
Wherever man is found, there is thy brother; 
God his blest sire is, earth is his mother — 

Where most degraded, thy zeal most increase ; 
Aid him and help him, till, ceasing to falter, 
He shall come up to humanity's altar, 

"Bearing white blocks for the city of Peace.'' 

Alice Gary. 

April Nineteenth 
Love's not a flower that grows on the dull earth ; 
It owns a richer soil, and boasts a quicker seed. 
You look for it and see it not ; and, lo ! 
E'en while you look the peerless flower is up, 
Consummate in its birth. — Sheridan Knowles. 

[42] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

y^ w >?< v^ W w w w v^ >joK viv viv viv w >?< w >j< 

April Twentieth 
Pray, how comes Love? 

It comes unsought, unsent. 
Pray, how goes Love? 

That was not love that went. 

Anonymous. 

April Twenty-first 
God hath made all things beautiful — the sky. 
The common earth, the sunshine, and the 
shade ; 
And with affections that can never die. 

Hath gifted every creature He hath made. 

Alice Cary. 

April Twenty-second 
True love is like the ivy green, 
That ne'er forgetteth what hath been, 
And so till life itself be gone, 
Until the end it clingeth on. 
What though the tree where it may cling 
Shall hardly know another spring? 
What though its boughs be dead and bare? 
The twining ivy climbeth there 
And clasps it with a firmer hold. 
With stronger love than that of old. 
And lends it grace it never had 
When time was young and life was glad. 

Eugene Field. 

[43] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

>^x: >^x >tv >ix v^ >tv >^x' >;< v^\ >^v ^^ v^v >^v v^v >^v >;v >^v v^v 

April Twexty-thied 
Yes ! let the rich deride, the proud disdain, 
The simple pleasures of the lowly train : 
To me more dear, cong -:::?.! to my heart, 
One native charm, than all the gloss of art. 

Goldsmith. 

ApHIL TwZNTY-FOrSTH 

How often we forget all time, when lone, 

Admiring Nature's universal throne. 

Her woods, her wilds, her waters, the intense 

Reply of hers to our intelligence! 

Live not the stars and mountains? Are the 

waves 
Without a spirit? Are the dropping caves 
Without a feeling in their silent tears? 
No, no : — they woo and clasp us to their spheres, 
Dissolve tliis clog and clod of clay before 
Its hour, and merge our soul in the great shore. 
Strip off this fond and false identity 1 
Who thinks of self when gazing on the sky? 
And who. though gazing lower, ever thought. 
In the young moments ere the heart is taught 
Time's lesson, of man's baseness or his own? 
All nature is his realm, and love his throne. 

Byron, 
Apeil Twzxty-fipth 
A mind content both crown and kingdom is. 

Robert Greene. 

[44] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

y^K W W >l< W W W W >l< W>J^>?K >^ >*< x^x yf<y^y^ 

April Twenty-sixth 

Love has no thought of self! 
Love buys not with the ruthless usurer's gold! 
Love sacrifices all things to bless the thing it 
loves. — Bulwer. 

April Twenty-seventh 

Love me for what I am, not for sake 
Of some imagined thing which I might be. 

Susan Coolidge. 

April Twenty-eighth 

It's no in titles nor in rank ; 

It's no in wealth like Lon'on bank, 

To purchase peace and rest ; 
It's no in making muckle, main 
It's no in books, it's no in lear. 

To make us truly blest: 
If happiness hae not her seat 

And center in the breast, 
iWe may be wise, or rich, or great. 
But never can be blest : 

Nae treasures, nor pleasures. 
Could make us happy lang : 
The heart ay's the part ay. 
That makes us right or wrang. 

Burns. 

[45] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

y^y^Ky^/^w^y^KW^y^y^ W>^ >4v Viv Hv viv viv v^ y^ 

April Twenty-ninth 

Self-love thus pushed to social, to divine, 
Gives thee to make thy neighbor's blessing 

thine. 
Is this too little for the boundless heart? 
Extend it, let thy enemies have part : 
Grasp the whole worlds of reason, life, and 

sense, 
In one close system of benevolence : 
Happier as kinder, in whatever degree, 
And height of Bliss but height of Charity. 

Pope. 



April Thirtieth 

At last young April, ever frail and fair, 
Wooed by her playmate with the golden hair, 
Chased to the margin of receding floods 
O'er the soft meadows starred with opening 

buds. 
In tears and blushes sighs herself away, 
And hides her cheek beneath the flowers of May. 

Holmes, 



T46] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

Viv wv >iv viv V4V w y^ vi< vjv w vjsr viv w >i*c>k w w 5^ 



MAY 

May First 

Then sing, ye birds, sing, sing a joyous song! 

And let the young lambs bound 

As to the tabor's sound! 
We in thought will join your throng, 

Ye that pipe and ye that play. 

Ye that through your hearts to-day 

Feel the gladness of the May ! 

Wordsworth, 

May Second 

"Hark! hark! the lark" sings mid the silvery 

blue, 
Behold her flight, proud man ! and lowly bow. 
She seems the first that does for pardon sue, 
As though the guilty stain which lurks below 
Had touched the flowers that drooped above her 

brow; 
When she all night slept by the daisies' side ; 
And now she soars where purity doth flow. 
Where new-born light is with no sin allied, 
And, pointing with her wings, heavenward our 

thoughts would guide. 

Thomas Miller. 

[47] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 



#y*. ^4* If'*' ^t* '♦» 'f» ',* '♦» '♦» '♦» «♦» '♦■» *♦» *♦» #t» #♦» «♦» #♦». 

^Iay Th-i 
Tis sweet to be awakened bv the lark. 

Or lull'd bv falling waters ; sweet the hum 
Of bees, the voice of girls^ the song of birds, 
The hsp of children and their earliest words. 

Bifron. 
]\Iat Fotbth 
Here's Daisies for the morn. Primrose for 
gloom, 
Pansies and Roses for the noontide hours : — 
A wight once made a dial of their bloom, — 
So may thy life be measured out by flowers ! 

Hood. 
May Fifth 
Clear was the heaven and blue, and Mav. with 

her cap crowned with roses. 
Stood in her hohday dress in the fields, and ilie 

wind and the brooklet 
Murmured gladness and peace, God's-peace! 
with Kps rosy-tinted. — Longfdlam. 

'SL\r Sixth 
Reason's whole pleasure, all the joys of sense. 
Lie in three words — ^Health, Peace, and Com- 
petence : 
But Health consists with Temperance alone; 
And Peace. Virtue I Peace is aU thy own- 

Pope. 

[48] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

W HV 'A\ ViV W W >^ •A'k HV ViV y^ypi. ViV ViV W ViV >|w; y^ 

May Seventh 

Deep this truth impressed my mind 

Thro' all His works abroad, 
The heart benevolent and kind 
The most resembles God. 

Burns. 
May Eighth 

Fair the blossoms opening early ! 

For the dew 
Fell upon them cool and pearly, 

Brightening every hue. 

Like a little thirsty flower, 

Lift your face; 
Seek the gentle holy shower 
Of the Spirit's grace. 

Havergal. 
May Ninth 

Peace be around thee, wherever thou rov'st; 

May life be for thee one summer's day, 
And all that thou wishest and all that thou lov'st 

Come smiling around thy sunny way ! 
If sorrow e'er this calm should break, 

May even thy tears pass off so lightly. 
Like spring-showers, they'll only make 

The smiles that follow shine more brightly. 

Moore. 

149] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

J^ H^K #^ j^ j/^K X^ >>^ >;» >;v >;» V ; r >♦» v,v >;» >;» >»v v^v >;v 

]\L\Y Texth 

Into this Universe, and 117/,?/ not knowing 
Nor TT''. :..:-. like Water willY-nilly flowing; 

And out of i", -^ Wind along the Waste^ 
I know not W?ii:/i,r, willy-nilly blowing. 

Omar Khayyam, 

May Eleventh 

My bonny man. the warld, it's true, 
Was made for neither me nor you; 
It's just a place to wrastle throughj 

As Job confessed o't : 
And ay the best that we can do 

Is mak the best o't. 

Robc-rt Louis Stevenson. 

May Twelfth 

Our ills are not so many 

Xor so hard to bear below. 
But our suffering in dread of the future 

Is more than our present woe. 

When, if we would trust in his wisdom 

Whose purpose we may not see. 
We would find, whatever our trials, 

As our day our strength shall be. 

Phabe Cary, 

[50] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

>j*c viv viv viv viv 7K7?^ >i^ w y^y^y^ w /^' w w w>?< 

May Thirteenth 

Let me live amongst high thoughts, and smiles 
As beautiful as love ; with grasping hands. 
And a heart that flutters with diviner life 
Whene'er my step is heard. 

Procter. 

May Fourteenth 

Through all disguise, form, place, or name, 
Beneath the flaunting robes of sin, 

Through poverty and squalid shame. 
Thou lookest on the man within. 

Whittier. 

May Fifteenth 

Men deal with life as children with their play 
Who first misuse, then cast their toys away. 

— Cowper. 

May Sixteenth 

How long do you live in Toy-land? 
This bright, merry, girl-and-boy-land? 

A few days at best 

We stay as a guest. 
Then good-by, forever, to Toy-land! 

Eugene Field. 

[51] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

May Seventeenth 
Then here's to our boyhood, its gold and its 

gray ! 
The stars of its winter, the dews of its May ! 
And when we have done with our life-lasting 

toys, 
Dear Father, take care of Thy children, the 

boys. — Holmes. 

May Eighteenth 
Time rolls his ceaseless course. The race of 

yore, 
Who danced our infancy upon their knee. 
And told our marvelling boyhood legends store. 
Of their strange ventures happed by land or sea, 
How are they blotted from the things that be ! 

Scott. 
May Nineteenth 
Hope is the dupe of future hours, 
Memory lives in those gone by ; 
Neither can see the moment's flowers 
Springing up fresh beneath the eye, 
Wouldst thou, or thou. 
Forego what's now. 
For all that Hope may say? 
No — Joy's reply. 
From every eye. 
Is, "Live we while we may." — Moore. 

[52] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

>^ y^Ky^y^y^ y^ -/i\ y(K y^ y(K ^^y^ >?<>^ ViV W >|<>K 

May Twentieth 

Happy the man, and he alone, 

Who, master of himself, can say. 
To-day, at least, hath been my own, 
For I have clearly lived to-day. 

Horace. 
May Twenty-first 

It's wiser being good than bad; 

It's safer being meek than fierce: 
It's fitter being sane than mad. 

My own hope is, a sun will pierce 
The thickest cloud earth ever stretched; 

That, after Last, returns the First, 
Though a wide compass round be fetched ; 

That what began best, can't end worst 

Nor what God blessed once, prove accursed. 

Browning. 
May Twenty-second 

The triumphs that on vice attend 

Shall ever in confusion end; 

The good man suffers but to gain. 

And every virtue springs from pain : 

As aromatic plants bestow 

No spicy fragrance while they grow ; 

But crush'd, or trodden to the ground. 

Diffuse their balmy sweets around. 

Goldsmith, 

[53] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

<» M.-X *;% *;» »;v ^^ >j*: >Jk :^\. jb^ #^ #^V >ii)C >^ ji^ ji^C j^K J^ 



..rts upcMi 



L:.: 






^r»r T 



Bz G:z'^ 



^ I A T T ~ z Vrr-FIFTH 

I: -T - -7 7; J truth. 



"rattier. 



L. 



[54] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

W< xix xix xix y^ v^ viv >;< y^y^Ky^y^^ yjv Vjy viv w -^ y^ 

May Twenty-seventh 

Yet, as the needle will forget its aim, 
Jarred by the fury of the electric flame, 
As the true current it will falsely feel, 
Warped from its axis by a freight of steel ; 
So will thy conscience lose its balanced truth, 
If passion's lightning fall upon thy youth. 

Holmes. 



May Twenty-eighth 

^'And everybody praised the Duke, 
Who this great fight did win." 

"But what good came of it at lasti^" 
Quoth little Peterkin. 

"Why, that I cannot tell," said he ; 

"But 'twas a famous victory.'' 

Southey. 

May Twenty-ninth 

Deeming it fame to tread where heroes trod. 
In his career he has not paused, or known 

That all are children of the self-same God, 
And that our brother's interest is our own ; 

For man that hardest lesson has to learn, 

Still to forgive, and good for ill to return. 

Phoebe Cary. 

[55] 



^ 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POET? 

>♦< ^K A^X >;k >^V AiV *iV >^V >^V >^ T^K >^ >iK >^ ^K >^ A^X >^ 

]N I A Y T iriE TIE T H 

A --r;- r--: -::r^ -- I 



T' \n Hr : : afrn>? even Seraphs insecure? 
Ciz :ures :: c.j.v — vain dweQers in the dust! 
The moth siirviTes you, and are ye more just? 
T : ^^ of a day ! you wither ere the night, 

Hr 55 a-d blind to Wisd?-:*? wasted li^P 

Byron. 



May TsimTT-FEBST 

If. drunk with sight of power, we loose 
Wild tongues iJiat have not Thee in awe — 
Such boasting as the Gentiles use^ 
Or lesser breeds without the L?w — 
Lord God of Hosts, be wit:: :^ ' rt. 
Lest we forget — lest we for« : 



[56] 



I 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

A^ x*x xi,\ Mi^ ytK -/i^ /fi. ■/« HV >jy >p: y^ >?<>{< >^ vjojo;^ 



JUNE 

June First 

It is the season now to go 
About the country high and low, 
Among the lilacs hand in hand, 
And two by two in fairy land. 

The brooding boy, the sighing maid, 
Wholly fain and half afraid. 
Now meet along the hazeled brook 
To pass and linger, pause and look. 

Stevenson. 

June Second 

At the Devil's booth are all things sold. 
Each ounce of dross costs its ounce of gold; 

For a cap and bells our lives we pay. 
Bubbles we earn with a whole soul's tasking ; 

'Tis heaven alone that is given away, 
'Tis only God may be had for the asking; 
There is no price set on the lavish summer; 
And June may be had by the poorest comer. 

Lowell. 

[57] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 



^♦X 0^X /^X X^X P^\ ^4X ^^K 0^X M^K 0^\ /^X #^X f^X ^^K g^X X^X M^K X^X 

June Thied 
Spirit of Beauty I let thy grace? blend 
With loveliest Xature all that Art can lend. 
Come from the bowers where Smnmer's life- 
blood flows 
Through the red Hps of June's half-open rose, 
Dressed in bright hues, the loving sunshine's 

dower ; 
For tranquil Xature owns no mourning flower. 

Holmes. 
June Foukth 
What's the best thing in the world? 
June-rose, by May-dew impearled : 
Sweet south-wind, that means no rain ; 
Truth, not cruel to a friend ; 
Pleasure, not in haste to end; 
Beauty, not self -decked and curled 
Till its pride is over-plain; 
Light, that never maies you wink ; 
Memory, that gives no pain : 
Love, when, so, you're loved again. 
What's the best thing in the world? 
— Something out of it, I think. 

Broxcning. 
June Fifth 
Reflect that life, like every other blessing, 
Derives its value from its use alone. 

Dr, Johnson. 

[58] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

June Sixth 

An elegant sufficiency, content, 

Retirement, rural quiet, friendship, books, 
Ease and alternate labor, useful life. 

Progressive virtue, and approving Heaven. 

Thomson. 
June Seventh 

But human bodies are sic fools. 
For -a' their colleges and schools. 
That when nae real ills perplex them. 
They mak enow themselves to vex them; 
An' ay the less they hae to sturt them, 
In like proportion, less will hurt them. 

Burns. 
June Eighth 

O, many a shaft at random sent, 
Finds mark the archer little meant ; 
And many a word, at random spoken, 
May soothe or wound a heart that's broken. 

Scott. 

June Ninth 

The time of Life is short: 
To spend that shortness basely, were too long, 
If life did ride upon a dial's point. 
Still ending at the arrival of an hour. 

Shakespeare. 

[59] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

i^ j^ J^ j^ j^ j^ 5^ j^ i^ j^ j^ >«♦• '^w >^ >i» *^ *^ >iti: 

Hr3.vei:*s harmonj is uniTersal Iotc 

Jr>:z Eiz z 7- 

AQ tlimgs, saTe Man, this Sunz: 

Swe^t snules the sky, so fair a worid to Tiew ; 

Unto the earth below the flowers giTe Toice ; 

Even the wajside weed of homeliest hue. 

Looks up erect amid the golden bfaie. 

And thus it speaketh to the thinking mind: — 

^'^erliMk me not ! I for a purpose grew. 

Though long ma jest thon that pnrpose trj to 

find; 
Oz us ze fi^Zi! God only is not 

— Thomas Miller. 

Jrxz T^zzzTH 



T 


1 of 


woe? 


1^ z - - nome : 


r ersr 


D: z:: z- ^rrisM Jz; 






To z:-: zzr zz^ - 


■-■-- ------ -■'-- 


' i ^ 


Ah! thou art lii- zr 


— -. ■ " - -z- 


■ 


When not a si- 






Dims the bright smile 


of Nature^s : 




Thou loT'st to sigh 


and mumn:: 






x. 


-, 



[60] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

Wv y^ Vjv Vix Viv yiv y^y viv v^y w^>l^ Viv >iv y^y yjv Viv viv >;< 

June Thirteenth 

Thou Great First Cause, least understood : 

Who all my sense confined 
To know but this, that Thou art good. 

And that myself am blind. 

Pope. 

June Fourteenth 

And what is so rare as a day in June? 

Then, if ever, come perfect days ; 
Then Heaven tries the earth if it be in tune, 

And over it softly her warm ear lays: 
Whether we look, or whether we listen, 
We hear life murmur, or see it glisten ; 
Every clod feels a stir of might. 

An instinct within it that reaches and towers, 
And, grasping blindly above it for light. 

Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers. 

Lowell. 

June Fifteenth 

For when the heart goes before, like a lamp, and 

illumines the pathway, 
Many things are made clear, that else lie hidden 

in darkness. 

Longfellow, 

[61] 



r AY VrjTR THE PCETS 

' *.» *i» »> »i*" *> «5* *^" «>" "i^ft ^ >^ 



He iliat bu fig^ viOJ 
Maj A F Ae oenbe an^:: _ 



MUUm. 






JTojufi Nix: 



I - 



jj 1/ / '^/i« 



t«] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

y^yiKy^y^KV^y^y^y^y^?^ w^y^ W W viv viv viv viv 

June Twentieth 
Put down the passions that make earth Hell! 
Down with ambition, avarice, pride. 
Jealousy, down ! cut off from the mind 
The bitter springs of anger and fear; 
Down too, down at your own fireside, 
With the evil tongue and the evil ear, 
For each is at war with mankind. 

TenriT/son. 
June Twenty-first 
What is left for us, save, in growth. 
Of soul, to rise up, far past both. 
From the gift looking to the Giver, 
And from the cistern to the River, 
And from the finite to Infinity, 
And from man's dust to God's divinity? 

Browning. 
June Twenty-second 
Bright ridges of bees round the full hive were 

humming, 
Away in the thick woods the partridge was 

drumming ; 
The rush of the sickle, the scythe-stroke serener, 
Were pleasantly mixed with the song of the 

gleaner. 
When under the shadows of full-blowing roses 
The days of the virginal June had their closes. 

Alice Cary. 

[63] 



PBOII TAT ~: TAY "~T:-I 7 

i mSfk *4>" «4>" "»-t« *t* ■^' *t* "<* «4* -«■> *V» 



Ju:s:s: TwEjrrT'r^: 



CCMCW 



Jtt'z _— 33nrr- 



Is e^T 
A rei: 



A : 






FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

'A\ A< >iv Wv >|v W Viv V4V v^y v;v 5^ Viv Hv viv y^v y^y v^ y^ 

June Twenty-sixth 

There's something in the apple-blossom. 
The greening grass and bobolink's song, 
That wakes again within my bosom 
Feelings which have slumbered long. 

Lowell. 

June Twenty-seventh 

The Lord is Lord of might ; 
In deeds, in deeds, he takes delight ; 
The plow, the spear, the laden barks 
The field, the founded city, marks ; 
He marks the smiler of the streets, 
The singer upon garden seats. 

Stevenson. 

June Twenty-eighth 

God is good, I know; 
And though in this bad soil a time we grow 

Crooked and ugly, all the ends of things 
Must be in beauty. Love can work no ill ; 

And though we see the shadow of its wings 
Only at times, shall we not trust it still ! 

So, even for the dead I will not bind 
My soul to grief : Death cannot long divide ; 

For is it not as if the rose that climbed 
My garden wall, had bloomed the other side.? 

Alice Cary. 

[65] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

y^y^yiK w >?< y^ viv >^c w >^- w w v^' w v^ W viv w 

June Twenty-ninth 

'Tis always morning somewhere, and above 
The awakening continents, from shore to shore, 
Somewhere the birds are singing evermore. 

Longfellow. 



June Thirtieth 

For nature ever faithful is 

To such as trust her faithfulness. 

When the forest shall mislead me, 

When the night and morning lie, 

When sea and land refuse to feed me, 

'Twill be time enough to die ; 

Then will yet my mother yield 

A pillow in her greenest field. 

Nor the June flowers scorn to cover 

The clay of their departed lover. 

Emerson. 



166-] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

JULY 

July First 

One flag, one land, one heart, one hand, 
One Nation evermore! 

Holmes. 
July Second 

Wisdom is meek sorrow's patient child. 
And empire over self, and all the deep 
Strong charities that make men seem like gods ; 
Good never comes unmixed, or so it seems. 
Having two faces, as some images 
Are carved, of foolish gods ; one face is ill. 
But one heart hes beneath, and that is good. 
As are all hearts, when we explore their depths. 
Therefore, great heart, bear up! thou art but 

type 
Of what all lofty spirits endure, that fain 
Would win 'men back to strength and peace 

through love: 
Each hath his lonely peak, and on each heart 
Envy, or scorn, or hatred, tears lifelong 
With vulture beak ; yet the high soul is left, 
And faith, which is but hope grown wise, and 

love. 
And patience which at last shall overcome. 

Lowell. 

[6T] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 
y^K y^ y^ y^v y^ y^Ky^'/^yiK y^ x^k y^K w W W y^y^^y:^ 

July Thied 

Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er. 

Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking ! 

Dream of battled fields no more, 
Days of danger, •nights of waking. 

Scott. 



July Fourth 

Love thou thy land, with love far-brought 
From out the storied Past, and used 
Within the Present, but transfused 

Thro' future time by power of thought. 

Tennyson* 



July Fifth 

Great is the sun, and wide he goes 
Through empty heaven without repose; 
And in the blue and glowing days 
More thick than rain he showers his rays. . . 

Above the hills, along the blue, 
Round the bright air with footing true, 
To please the child, to paint the rose. 
The Gardener of the World, he goes. 

Stevenson. 

[68] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

yf< >j<>^ xjx >^ >^ >i^7$< w i^y^ w w >j<>?*c v?< w w 

July Sixth 

When Friendship or Love our sympathies move, 
When Truth in a glance should appear, 

The lips may beguile with a dimple or smile. 
But the test of affection's a Tear. 

Byron. 

July Seventh 

Should auld acquaintance be forgot. 

And never brought to mind? 
Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 

And days o' auld lang syne? 

Burns. 

July Eighth 

Teach me to feel another's woe, 

To hide the fault I see ; 
That mercy I to others show, 

That mercy show to me. 



Pope. 



July Ninth 



Up ! work out the fate of a hero. 
Or perish at least in the strife; 

Even we may be builders of bridges 
For the passage of souls into Life. 

Alice Cary. 

[69] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

>iX >*X >4X 0^ 0^ 0iK >4X >;x V^V V4V '^JX V^V >^V 0^< /^V >iX /4X y^ 

JrLY Texth 

To him who m the love of nature holds 
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks 
A various language ; for his gayer hours 
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile 
And eloquence of beauty, and she ghdes 
Into his darker musings, with a mild 
And healing sympathy, that steals away 
Their sharpness, ere he is aware. 

Bryant. 

July Eleventh 

Contend, my soul, for moments and for hours ; 
Each is with service pregnant : each reclaimed 
Is a kingdom conquered, where to reign. 

Steverisan. 

July Twelfth 

Who made the heart, 'tis He alone 

Decidedly can try us, 
He knows each chord its various tone. 

Each spring its various bias: 
Then at the balance let's be mute, 

We never can adjust it; 
What's done we partly may compute, 

But know not what's resisted. 

Burns. 

[TO] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

>iv yi< >iv Viv Hv >♦< Hv v^ v^ WT?^ W viy yi^ viv viv W W 

July Thirteenth 

Oft does my heart indulge the rising thought. 
Which still recurs, unlocked for and unsought; 
My soul to Fancy's fond suggestion yields, 
And roams romantic o'er her airy fields. 
Scenes of my youth, developed, crowd to view, 
To which I long have bade a last adieu! 
Seats of delight, inspiring youthful themes ; 
Friends lost to me for aye, except in dreams. 

Byron. 

July Fourteenth 

To keep one sacred flame. 

Thro' life unchilled, unmoved, 
To love in wintry age the same 

As first in youth we loved; 
To feel that we adore 

To such refined excess, 
That tho' the heart would break with morCy 

We could not live with less; 
This is love, faithful love. 
Such as saints might feel above. 

Moore. 

July Fifteenth 

Love indeed is light from Heaven, 
A glory circling round the soul. 

Byron. 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

>*< y9< yfK xix x^x x^ x^x y4< ^4^ x^x^i^^^ >^^ y^y >|v y$<y^y$<y^ 

July Sixteenth 

Whom I crown with love is royal; 

Matters not her blood or birth ; 
She is Queen, and I am loyal 

To the noblest of the earth. 

Anonymous. 

JuLrY Seventeenth 

I dare do all that may become a man ; 
Who dares do more is none. 

Shakespeare. 

July Eighteenth 

Search thine own heart. What paineth thee 

In others in thyself may be; 

All dust is frail, all flesh is weak; 

Be thou the true man thou dost seek ! 

Whittier. 

July Nineteenth 

"The wounds I might have healed! 

The human sorrow and smart ! 
And yet it never was in my soul 

To play so ill a part: 
But evil is wrought by want of Thought, 

As well as want of Heart !" — Hood. 

[72] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

W viv w Viv viv y^ w v^ 5^ W>^ >l< w v^ >j^ vi*c w >?< 

July Twentieth 

I held it truth, with him who sings 
To one clear harp in divers tones, 
That men may rise on stepping-stones 

Of their dead selves to higher things. 

Tennyson. 

July Twenty-first 

O joy! that in our embers 
Is something that doth live. 

Wordsworth. 

July Twenty-second 

Enough that blessings undeserved 

Have marked my erring track ; — 
That wheresoe'er my feet have swerved, 

His chastening turned me back ; — 
That more and more a Providence 

Of love is understood, 
Making the springs of time and sense 

Sweet with eternal good ; — 
That death seems but a covered way 

Which opens into light. 
Wherein no blinded child can stray 

Beyond the Father's sight. 

Whit tier. 

[73] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

vjx >i* 'I't^ vjv v;x 'fix #;-« v;v v^it v;* viv >;■» vjx «jx vjv vjv >jx >j*k 

July T-z-tv-t-:-: 

Art buflds on sand: "he works of pride 
And hnr - r -i::: :'r.-gi ind faU; 

But that vr].:.: ^ .:r^ z\.~. : ir :i God 
With him surriveth all. — Whittitr. 

JtLT T^ZN'TY-FOntTH 

Pleasures are like poppies spread. 
You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed ; 
Or lite the snow-falls in the riTer, 
A moment white — ^then melts forever ; 
Or like the boreaUs raee. 
That flit ere yoa can point their place; 
Or Hke the rainbow's loTely form 
Evanishing amid the storm.— 
Nae man can tether time or tide. 



Burns. 



JriY T' 



The child who see- -.':.z iew of night 

Upon the spangir ■ i r . ^ : . : : : . . 

Attempts to catch x ~ - ^ - :: L:^: :. 

But wounds his finger with the thorn. 
Thus oft the br:^: :^ * :7s we seek. 

Are lost when :;.:: ^ . :rA turned to pain; 
The flush they kicdlr ^ ^ -5 : :e cheek. 

The tears they waken long remain. 

JlToor^r. 

[74] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

f^^yiK/^y^y^ y^K y^K y^ xfK yi^\yfK xjx xix y^x x^x /^\ y^ /f< 

July Tv/enty-sixth 

They sin who tell us love can die. 
With life all other passions fly. 
All others are but vanity. 

Southey. 



July Twenty-sevjenth 

The clouds that gather round the setting sun 
Do take a sober coloring from an eye 
That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality ; 
Another race hath been, and other palms are 

won. 
Thanks to the human heart by which we live. 
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears — 
To me the meanest flower that blows can give 
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. 

Wordsworth, 



July Twenty-eighth 

Oh what a shining revelation of His treasures 

God has given ! 
Precious things of grace and glory, precious 

things of earth and heaven. 

HavergaL 

[75] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

>i* >tK >4*k xiK >ff*c >iv >;» >;» «t* '♦* *i* '♦* >♦» 't^ '♦'^ '♦^ 'f**^ <♦* 

JUI-Y TWZXTY-XTN-TK 

Cursed be the social wants that sin against the 

strength of youth! 
Cursed be the social lies that warp us from the 

livincr truth I 

Tennyson. 



■^o 



July Thietieth 

Good name, in man or woman. 

Is the immediate jewel of their souls. 

Shakespeare. 

July TKiEXY-riBST 

Columbia, fairest nation of the world. 

Sitting in queenly beauty in the west. 
With all thy banners round about thee furled, 

Xursing the cherub Peace upon thy breast; 
Xever did dauo:hter of a kino^lT line 
Look on a lovelier heritage than thine! 

Phoebe Cary. 



[76] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

x+x xix /|V '/pi. viv y|v viv >i<c vjv >;v w viv viv hv >i>c v?>c>;< >j< 



AUGUST 

August First 

A song for the plant of my own native West, 

Where nature and freedom reside, 
By plenty still crowned and by peace ever 
blessed, 
To the corn ! the green corn of her pride ! 
In the climes of the East has the olive been sung. 
And the grape been the theme of their lays ; 
But for thee shall a harp of the backwoods be 
strung, 
Thou bright, ever-beautiful Maize ! 

William W. Fosdich. 

August Second 

In the morning sow thy seed, nor stay thy hand 

at evening hour, 
Never asking which may prosper — both may 

yield thee fruit and flower. 

Thou shalt reap of that thou sowest, though 

thy grain be small and bare, 
God shall clothe it as he pleases, for the harvest 

full and fair. 

Havergal, 

[77] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

August Thibd 

Honour and shame from no condition rise: 
Act well jour part — there all the honour lies. 

Pope. 

August Fourth 

If solid happiness we prize, 
WitJiin our brea^it this jewel lies, 

And they are fools who roam: 
The world has nothing to bestow, 
From our own selves our joys must flow, 

And that dear hut — our home. 

Cotton. 

August Fifth 

Life liveth best in life, and doth not roam 
To other realms if all be well at home. 

Kipling. 

August Sdcth 

Home of our childhood! how affection clings 
And hovers round thee with her seraph wings! 

O happiest they, whose early love unchanged, 
Hopes undissolved, and friendship unestranged. 
Tired of their wanderings, still can deign to see 
Love, hopes, and friendship, centering all in 
thee! Holmes. 

[78] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

August Skventh 

'Tis sweet to hear tlie watch-dog's honest bark 
Bay deep-mouth'd welcome as we draw near 
home, 
'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark 
Our coming, and look brighter when we come. 

Byroii. 
August Eighth 

By every hill whose stately pines 

Wave their dark arms above 
The home where some fair being shines. 

To warm the wilds with love, 
From barest rock to bleakest shore 

Where farthest sail unfurls. 
That stars and stripes are streaming o'er, — 

God bless our Yankee girls! 

Holmes. 
August Ninth 

But dear girl, both flowers and beauty 

Blossom, fade and die away ; 
Then pursue good sense and duty. 

Evergreens ! which ne'er decay. 
We find it by experienced fact, 
Thought nmst ripen into act ; 
For trees are held in high repute. 
Not for their blossoms, but tlieir fruit. 

Nathaniel Cotton. 

[79] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

>^ y^K y^ y^x y^v y^v y^v y^v y^x >^ >4< >^x y^v y^x y+v >^y >jv >^ 

August Tenth 

'Tis Beauty, that doth oft make Women proud ; 
'Tis Virtue, that doth make them most admir'd ; 
'Tis Modesty, that makes them seem dhine. 

Shakespeare, 

August Eleventh 

Xav, weave sweet fancies as you will, 

Yet what is cliildish happiness 
To such great rapture as can fill 

The heart of womanhood with bliss? 
And though the trials which years must bring 

Have come, and left thee what thou art, 
Tliink what a great and wondrous thing 

Is victory o'er the human heart! 

Phoebe Cary, 

August Twelfth 

A most silver flow 
Of subtle-paced counsel in distress, 
Right to the heart and brain, tho' undescried. 

Winning its way with extreme gentleness 
Thro' all the outworks of suspicious pride ; 
A courage to endure and to obey ; 
A hate of gossip parlance, and of sway, 
Crown'd Isabel, thro' all her placid hfe, 
The queen of marriage, a most perfect wife. 

Tennyson. 

[80] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

w w vi< w viv w vjvMv viv viv >?^ v^ V4V viv viv 'A^y^ir^ 

August Thirteenth 
O woman, in thy native innocence, rely 
On what thou hast of virtue: summon all, 
For God toward thee hath done His part, do 
thine. — Milton. 

August Fourteenth 
The kindest and the happiest pair 
Will find occasion to forbear ; 
And something every day they live 
To pity, and perhaps forgive. 

Cowper. 
August Fifteenth 
As unto the bow the cord is, 
So unto the man is woman: 
Though she bends him, she obeys him, 
Though she draws him, yet she follows, 
Useless each without the other ! 

Longfellow. 
August Sixteenth 
She who only finds her Self-esteem 
In others' Admiration, begs an alms ; 
Depends on others for her daily food, 
And is the very servant of her slaves ; 
Tho' oftentimes, in a fantastic hour, 
O'er men she may a childish pow'r exert. 
Which not ennobles, but degrades her state. 

Joanna Baillic. 

[81] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

y^ 0^ >4X #;* >;» v;v *^ *;% >^ 't^^t^ *♦* *♦* ^4*. *♦> *>*i j*^*^ *4>l 

August Seventeiinth 

Backward, turn backward, O Time, in your 

flight. 
Make me a child again, just for to-night! 
Mother, come back from the echoless shore. 
Take me again to your heart as of yore. 

E. A, Allen. 



August Eighteenth 

Youth fades ; love droops ; the leaves of friend- 
ship fall; 

A mother^s secret hope outlives them all. 

Holmes. 



August Nineteenth 

The mothers of our forest-land! 

Such were their daily deeds : 
Their monument! — where does it stand? 

Their epitaph! — who reads? 
No braver dames had Sparta, 

No nobler matrons Rome — 
Yet who or lauds or honors them. 

E'en in their own green home? 

William D. Gallagher, 

[82] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

y^ >;y y^ y^ wv v^ viv vivt^c vi^ w v?vv?v >;< y^y^y^yfK 

August Twentieth 

Mark her majestic Fabric; she's a Temple 
Sacred by birth, and built by hands Divine : 
Her Soul's the Deity that lodges there ; 
Nor is the Pile unworthy of the God. 

Dryden. 
August Twenty-first 

Love took up the glass of Time, and turn'd it 

in his glowing hands ; 
Every moment, lightly shaken, ran itself in 

golden sands. 

Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on all 

the chords with might ; 
Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, pass'd 

in music out of sight. — Tennyson. 

August Twenty-second 

And I will trust that He who heeds 
The life that hides in mead and wold. 

Who hangs yon alder's crimson beads, 
And stains these mosses green and gold. 

Will still, as He hath done, incline 

His gracious care to me and mine ; 

Grant what we ask aright, from wrong debar, 

And as the earth grows dark, make brighter 
every star ! — Whittier. 

[ 83 ] 



c 



FROM DAY TO DAY ^VITH THE POET 

***^ «♦* «i* i* '> »;• «> »:» ».« i.» 1 .1 .:> rv ... ,.i ,.» ,.» ,; 

Tho' Love's o^^":: :: : -..-. / : 

Disguise our b : ^ t ~ . 

Tis woman, woman, mies us sr.:.L — Moore, 

Az&TST XwKXTT-POirmTH 

What is there in this Tak of fife 
Half so defig^tf al as a wife. 
When friendship, loTe, and peac^ 
T: : the marriage bcmd divine? 

Camper. 

August Twxntt-fifth 

Tis not to make me jealous. 
To say my wife is fiir. iVrds well, loves com- 
pany, 
L? free of spe^::;. ^:::^^. 1" ^^ :t- —el!; 

Where virtue :-. : t— - : 

Nor from mine own vr- irill I draw 

The smallest fear, or do.: : :>: her revolt; 
For she had eyes, and chose me. — Shakespeare, 

ArcrsT Twexty-secth 
When ance life's day draws near the gioanun*. 
Then farewed vacant cardess roamin'; 
An' f areweel cheerf u' tankards f oamin'. 

An' scxaal ncnse; 
An' farewed ^ar deluding woman. 

The joy of joys! — Bmms. 

[8*] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

yiv Viv Hv '/^ y^ Viv >iv v^ y^v >;oi< v?^ W vi^ y|>c v;*c viv w^k 

August Twenty-seventh 

A Book of Verses underneath the Bough, 

A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread — and Thou 

Beside me singing in the Wilderness — 
Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow! 

Omar Khayyam. 

August Twenty-eighth 

Though fools spurn Hymen's gentle powers, 
We who improve his golden hours 

By sweet experience know 
That marriage, rightly understood, 
Gives to the tender and the good 

A paradise below. 

Charles Caleb Colton. 

August Twenty-ninth 

She Is a woman: one in whom 
The spring-time of her childish years 
Hath never lost its fresh perfume. 
Though knowing well that life hath room 
For many blights and many tears. 

And youth in her a home will find, 
Where he may dwell eternally ; 
Her soul is not of that weak kind 
Which better love the life behind 
Than that which is, or is to be. — Lowell, 

[ 85 ] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH TKE POETS 

1^ fl^ «^ «^ M^*^ »;* k;v i;v »,» »;v .,* i.* t.» k^» «;»; k^», ^^^ ;k^ 

Atjtst T--Trz7H 



And Tariahk 
Bj ilK figU 
When pain ^ 
A minisfcering 



31 ease, 
'- ^o please. 



.row. 



Scott. 



-7 T-- 



Y^oa can BghiTr:. 



u ve 



We 



and 



erer. 



:man. forever 
—Kiptimg. 



[861 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

>?<>?<>?< vjv >■;«; v{< viv >?< yj<>?<">?ir Wv hv >iK vix ^y ^y >j< 



SEPTEMBER 

September First 

Childhood is the bough, where slumbered 
Birds and blossoms many-numbered ; — 
Age, that bough with snows encumbered. 

Longfellow. 



September Second 

The meadow king-cups and the furze 
Were pretty with the harvest dew, 
And in the brook the thistle threw 

The shadows of its many burs. 

I wis, he lovely was to see, 

In the gray twilight's pallid shade, 
As on his willow pipe he played, 

Crowned with "buds of poesy" — 
"I would that I were bird or bee, 
Or anything that I am not — 
A sound, a breeze, I care not what, 

So I might live and die with thee.'' 

Alice Cary. 

[87] 



: jilMiMMiUJiJII'y ff JL^-l»BJML.. 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

1^ 1^ 1^ y^ if^ yfK j^ y^ y^ >?Ojx m^ y^ yf< y^K /(< yfK y^ 

September Thlrd 

He prayeth best who loveth best 
All things both great and small; 

For the dear God, who loveth us, 

He made and loveth all. — Coleridge. 



September Fourth 

The child, the seed, the grain of corn, 

The acorn on the hill, 
Each for some separate end is born 

In season fit, and still 

Each must in strength arise to work the 
almighty will. . . . — Stevenson. 



September Fifth 

Live while you live, the epicure would say. 
And seize the pleasures of the present day; 
Live while you live, the sacred preacher cries, 
And give to God each moment as it flies. 
Lord, in my views, let both united be : 
I live in pleasure when I live to thee. 

Philip Doddridge. 

188] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

W >l*c >?< w viv 'MiK'j^'M^y^ wTjiTViv vjv w v^ W v^ vi< 

September Sixth 

The babe by its mother 

Lies bathed in joy, 

GKde its hours uncounted, 

The sun is its toy ; 

Shines the peace of all being 

Without cloud in its eyes. 

And the sum of the world 

In soft miniature Hes. — Emerson, 

September Seventh 

Weary of the mother's part? 

My sweet baby, never! 
I will rock thee on my heart 

Ever, yes, for ever ! 

Loveliest of lovely things 
Pure as the evangel! — 
O, in everything but wing 
Is my babe an angel! 

Alice Gary. 
September Eighth 

My crown is in my heart, not on my head; 
Not deck'd with diamonds and Indian stones 
Nor to be seen: my crown is call'd content; 
A crown it is, that seldom kings enjoy. 

Shakespeare. 

[89] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

y^ >^ jt4< M^K jf^^y^ Mix >♦< >iV >4X>^K jt^\ >vv >;< >^C >♦< Vjopc 

Septe^ibeb Ninth 

I look upon the fair blue skies, 
And naught but empty air I see ; 

But when I turn me to thine eyes, 
It seemeth unto me 

Ten thousand angels spread their wings 

Within those little azure rings. — Holmes. 

September Tenth 

God bless thee, dear . . . 

With blessings beyond hope or thought, 

With blessings which no word can find. 

Tennyson. 

September Eleventh 

Women know 
The way to rear up children (to be just). 
They know a simple, merry, tender knack 
Of tying sashes, fitting baby-shoes. 
And stringing pretty words that make no sense, 
And kissing full sense into empty words ; 
Which things are corals to cut life upon, 
Although such trifles. — Browning. 

September Twelfth 

The truly generous is the truly wise; 
And he who loves not others, lives imblest. 

Rev. John Home. 

[90] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

>?<>?< w >j^ w y^y^y^y^ y^Ky^y^^r^ >^ >?k >?v >?<>i»c 

September Thirteenth 
Heaven lies about us in our infancy ! 
Shades of the prison-house begin to close 

Upon the growing boy; 
But he beholds the light, and whence it flows — 

He sees it in his joy. 
The youth, who daily farther from the east 

Must travel, still is nature's priest, 

And by the vision splendid 

Is on his way attended; 
At length the man perceives it die away. 
And fade into the light of common day. 

Wordsworth. 
September Fourteenth 

God made thee perfect, not immutable ; 

And good he made thee, but to persevere 

He left it in thy pow'r. — Milton. 

September Fifteenth 
Come to me, O ye children ! 

And whisper in my ear 
What the birds and the winds are singing 

In your sunny atmosphere. 

For what are all our contrivings. 

And the wisdom of our books. 
When compared with your caresses. 

And the gladness of your looks? 

Longfellow. 

[91] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 
yi<i^>^y^ ji^\ MiK/fK /^ vix XiK x^\ x^'^y^yf^ >'i^ >^^> >^^ ^ 

Septembek Sixteenth 
Ye tiny elves that guiltless sport, 

Like linnets in the bush, 
Ye Httle know the ills ye court, 
When manhood is your wish ! 
The losses, the crosses, 

That active man engage ! 
The fears all, the tears all. 
Of dim-decHning age. 

Burns, 
September Seventeenth 
I hke the man who faces what he must 
With step triumphant and a heart of cheer ; 
Who fights the daily battle without fear ; 
Sees his hopes fail, yet keeps unfaltering trust 
That God is God. —S. K. Bolton. 

September Eighteenth 
I have not seen, I may not see. 

My hopes for man take form in fact. 
But God will give the victory 

In due time; in that faith I act. 
And he who sees the future sure. 
The baffling present may endure. 
And bless, meanwhile, the unseen Hand that 

leads 
The heart's desires beyond the halting step of 
deeds. — Whittier. 

[92] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 
y^y^Ky^i^y^y^yffKy^y^ y^y^y^K >j< w >^' y^ y^ y;< 

September Nineteenth 

You call me still your life — Oh! change the 
word — 
Life is as transient as the inconstant sigh: 
Say rather I'm your soul; more just that name, 
For, like the soul, my love can never die. 

Byron. 

September Twentieth 

When a man's busy, why, leisure 
Strikes him as wonderful pleasure; 
'Faith, and at leisure once is he? 
Straightway he wants to be busy. 

Browni/ng. 

September Twenty-first 

What you can do, or dream you can, begin it; 
Boldness has genius, power and magic in it ; 
Only engage and then the mind grows heated; 
Begin, and then the work will be completed. 

Goethe. 

September Twenty-second 

What is excellent. 

As God lives, is permanent. 

Hearts are dust, hearts' loves remain, 

Heart's love will meet thee again. 

Emerson. 

[93] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

>^v >;k >^v >;v >^x >t;K M^K 1^ /^ #q^ /^ >tf^ >tV '0^x >;\ x^x >^v >^ic 

September Twzxty-tkied 

I count ir.y^e^i in nothing -.-e so happy. 
As in a sc^l rememberh:g n.y good friends: 
And. as my fortune ripc::s vr::h thy love. 
It shall be still thy true love's recompense: 
My heart this cove::3.::: iu3.kr^. ir.y h:::;i :hus 
seals it. — Sh: ' r.re. 



SePTEMBEE TvTENTY-rOrETH 

Alas — how light a cause may move 

Dissension between Hearts that love! 

Hearts that the world in vain had tried. 

And sorrow but more closely tied: 

That stood the Storr::. "i.en waves were rough. 

Yet in a sunny hour i3..i oft. 

Like ships that have gene down at sea. 

When Heaven was all tran:;nil::v. — Moore, 



September Twenty-eieth 

He that wrongs liis friend 
Wrongs liimgwlf more, and ever bears about 
A silent court of jn^^ice in hi^ brea^:. 
Himself the jna^e and jnry. and nin^sdi 
The r : i ^ : :: :- r a : : i. e bar. e^' e r c o n d e mn ' d : 
And that drags down his life. — Ten' '- 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

HV vjv viv Hv Viv Hv w vi*c v^ j^y^K y^ 'm^k y^y '/^ mPk y^ viv 

September Twenty-sixth 

Let Friendship's accents cheer our doubtful 

way, 
And Love's pure planet lend its guiding ray. 

Holmes. 

September Twenty-seventh 

There is a comfort in the strength of love ; 
'Twill make a thing endurable which else 
Would break the heart. — Wordsworth* 



September Twenty-eighth 

As the broad ocean endlessly upheaveth, 
With the majestic beating of his heart, 
The mighty tides, whereof its rightful part 
Each sea-wide gulf and little weed receiveth — 
So, through his soul who earnestly believeth, 
Life from the universal Heart doth flow. 
Whereby some conquest of the eternal woe 
By instinct of God's nature he achieveth : 
A fuller pulse of this all-powerful Beauty 

Into the poet's gulf -like heart doth tide, 
And he more keenly feels the glorious duty 

Of serving Truth despised and crucified — 
Happy, unknowing sect or creed, to rest 
And feel God flow forever through his breast. 

LowelL 

[95] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

y^K 104K y~^^ y^v y^^ /^k y^ y^ x^v y^\ x^x y^x y+x y^K v^v x^x y^ y^K 

September Twenty-ninth 

It becomes no man to nurse despair, 

But, in the teeth of clench'd antagonisms, 

To follow up the worthiest till he die. 

Tejinyson. 

September Thirtieth 

Is this a time to be cloudy and sad, 

When our mother Nature laughs around; 

When even the deep blue heavens look glad, 
And gladness breathes from the blossoming 
ground? 

There's a dance of leaves in that aspen bower, 

There's a titter of winds in that beechen tree, 
There's a smile on the fruit, and a smile on the 
flower. 
And a laugh from the brook that runs to the 
sea. 

And look at the broad-faced sun, how he smiles 
On the dewy earth that smiles m his ray, 

On the leaping waters and gay young isles ; 
Aj, look, and he'll smile thy gloom away. 

Bryant. 



[96] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

wv yj^ 'MpK >;v vi»c w w W W w>i^ w W v^ W v^ >?< >?< 



OCTOBER 

October First 

Autumn has come — like Spring returned to us, 
Won from her girlishness — like one returned 
A friend that was a lover — nor forgets 
The first warm love, but full of sober thoughts 
Of fading years ; whose soft mouth quivers yet 
With the old smile — ^but yet so changed and still. 

Browning. 

October Second 

As the drained fountain, filled with autumn 
leaves. 
The field swept naked of its garnered sheaves ; 
So wastes at noon the promise of our dawn, 
The springs all choking, and the harvest gone. 

Yet hear the lay of one whose natal star 
Still seemed the brightest when it shone afar; 
Whose cheek, grown pallid with ungracious toil, 
Glows in the welcome of his parent soil ; 
And ask no garlands sought beyond the tide. 
But take the leaflets gathered at your side. 

Holmes. 

[97] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 



>^K »ij^ 't-»^ i.y '.* ».* *.»'.» '.* /.» '.^ '♦» ».» '.» '.I 1.1 f,\ *^\ 



That rock ^ 

Tliat witfa 

Sow g^julne' 

And still ^: ^ ':. ::^ .\~^.:. -: 

Spin the giz about. 



Stcunuouim 



:z F:tlt: 



Tliere is ?. :iimg now 

ItsmeDow : : : t^^ . i stered trees, 

AndyfitKT -7^^ -yes, 

Poming rr - ~oods, 

Anddipp:::^ : - : L_ : ^ red clouds. 

Owlimta g : - 

For liim "^ : . ~ : :.-:.:'.. ^ : e 5 forth 

Undo* the :_ : -- - ^^ oks 
On duties wdi performec 



0:r:izL Fifth 

I: :*f: ::.i:r 1: 5 : "::: glance thej cast, 
1 - :^ 7 J 7 3 CAD praise the Past; 

1 - ben past its bloom, 

J-^: : . - ^ : : i - s V r "Derfume. 

^ Shemskme. 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

y^KV^y^i^ y^K y^ >?< y^ y^K y^y^ y^y^y^Ki^ y^y^ y^ 

October Sixth 

Who does the best his circumstance allows, 
Does well, acts nobly ; Angels could no more. 

Yoimg. 
October Seventh 

Circles are praised, not that abound 
In largeness, but th' exactly round; 
So life we praise that does excel. 
Not much in time, but acting well. 

Edmund Waller. 

October Eighth 

No perfect whole can our nature make; 
Here or there the circle will break; 
The orb of life as it takes the light 
On one side leaves the other in night. 

Whittier. 
October Ninth 

There shall never be one lost good ! What was, 

shall live as before ; 
The evil is null, is naught, is silence implying 

sound ; 
What was good shall be good, with, for evil, so 

much good more; 
On earth the broken arcs ; in heaven, a perfect 

round. — Browning. 

[99] 



FRO:\I DAY TO DAY WITH THE P0ET5 

X^K A^\ >^V >i< >^V /;v >;v >^V >^V >^K ^iK >iV >EiV XiV >^K >Ei,V *iX >^K 

OcTOBZH Tenth 

Lord, what :? :: ::. "^- e :::.::-. ^: --ri'e?, 
Up to thy SrVr :: ^^ ::^'::; — : ::s. 
While still: 5 ^ 5 : 5:: gs 

To e -rth, like other cr^ ::i/^ : ;g5 I 

WhUtier. 



OcTOBZr. ElLEVKNTH 

Th'zk. "hf:; :ur ::\z : S. •-ir.ierstands 

Th- ^:--: W:rd -:u:h ::-"krS a" "^^-gs 

W:-:: ^-•-:; ":-;.;- v,:: ;.:;:: H-v-; ,xr-:is— 

OCTOZZZ TwKUTH 

B u: - -i : :". t i :':. : : f ^ : .=. : r 1 v mansioiLs , n: v s col, 
As :h. ^-::: ....: ;s rJU! 
Leave ::.v low-Yaolted past! 
Lt: t \ h ::ew temple, nobler than the !a>-. 
Sau: ::-rr from heaven with a doiir ia::e V5,5:, 
Tin thou at length art free, 
Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unrest- 
ing sea. — Holmes. 

£100] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

>iX X jX X4X X4X >^4X X4X X^X X4X >|>C >^ >?< V^ >|< W >J< >|*C W >?< 

October Thirteenth 

What we have we prize not to the worth 
Whiles we enjoy it; but being lack'd and lost, 
Why, then we rack the value, then we find 
The virtue that possesssion would not show us. 
While it was ours. — Shakespeare. 

October Fourteenth 

The Holy Supper is kept, indeed, 
In whatso we share with another's need ; 
\ Not what we give, but what we share, — 
\ For the gift without the giver is bare ; 
Who gives himself with his alms feeds three, — 
Himself, his hungering neighbor, and Me. 

Lowell. 
October Fifteenth 

He gives nothing but worthless gold 

Who gives from a sense of duty ; 
But he who gives but a slender mite. 
And gives to that which is out of sight, 

That thread of the all-sustaining Beauty 
Which runs through all and doth all unite, — 
The hand cannot clasp the whole of his alms. 
The heart outstretches its eager palms. 
For a god goes with it and makes it store 
To the soul that was starving in darkness before. 

Lowell. 

[ 101 ] 



FRO:\I DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

*;v >^V >^V >4X >^V >^X >^ >^ 



^^\ ff\ '^\ ffX f^X PfK *^X >♦< f'fX 



OcTOBZE Sixteenth 

Suppose a neighbor should desire 
To li^ht a candle at vour fire. 
Would it deprive vour flame of light 
Because another profits by 't r 

Robert Lloyd. 

October Seventeenth 

The rain comes when the wind calls, 
The river knows the way to the sea, 
Without a pilot it runs and falls. 
Blessing all lands with its charity. 

Emerson, 



October Eighteenth 

God's free sunshine on the hills. 

Soft mists hanging o'er the rills. 

Blushing flowers of loveliness 

Trembling with the light wind's kiss, — 

0, the soul forgets its care. 

Looking on a world so fair 1 — Phctbe Cary. 

October Xineteenth 

The world's no blot for us, 
Xor blank: it means intensely, and means good; 
To find its meanino: is mv meat and drink. 



Broicning, 



[102] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

>;y viv y^y^yiK y^y^y^y^ y^y^M^\ m^\ a< v^v w viv j^s. 

October Twentieth 
Life hath its memories lovely, 

That over the heart are blown, 
As over the face of the Autumn 

The light of the summer flown ; 
Rising out of the midst so chilling 

That oft life's sky enshrouds, 
Like a new moon sweetly filling 

Among the twilight clouds. — Alice Cary. 

October Twenty-first 
From the wreck of the past, which hath perish'd. 

Thus much I at least may recall, 
It hath taught me that what I most cherish'd 

Deserved to be dearest of all: 
In the desert a fountain is springing. 

In the wide waste there still is a tree. 
And a bird in the solitude singing. 

Which speaks to my spirit of thee. — Byron, 

October Twenty-second 
Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control. 
These three alone lead life to sovereign power. 
Yet not for power, (power of herself 
Would come uncalPd for,) but to live by law, 
Acting the law we live by without fear ; 
And, because right is right, to follow right 
Were wisdom in the scorn of consequence. 

Termyson. 

X103] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

y^ yf^ >^X y^ y^ y^ X^X yfK Mf< XjXT'iV VjV V^V HV V^V W^/^y^ 

October Twenty-third 

A verse may find him who a sermon flies, 
And turn delight into a sacrifice. 

George Herbert. 

October Twenty-fourth 

They talk of short-lived pleasure — ^be it so — 
Pain dies as quickly: stern, hard-featured 
pain 
Expires, and lets her weary prisoner go. 
The fiercest agonies have shortest reign ; 
And after dreams of horror, comes again 
The welcome morning with its rays of peace. 

Oblivion, softly wiping out the stain. 
Makes the strong secret pangs of shame to 

cease : 
Remorse is virtue's root ; its fair increase 

Are fruits of innocence and blessedness : 
Thus joy, o'erborne and bound, doth still release 
His young limbs from the chains that round 
him press. 
Weep not that the world changes — did it keep 
A stable changeless state, 'twere cause indeed to 
weep. — Bryant. 

October Twenty-fifth 

Be true and thou shalt fetter time with ever- 
lasting chain. — Schiller. 

1.10*]. 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

W >j< W w v^ y^/^ W >^ y^Ky^y^ v^ v^ >i< hv w >;< 

October Twenty-sixth 
Autumn melancholy dwells, 
And sighs her tearful spells 
Amongst the sunless shadows of the plain. 
She sits and reckons up the dead and gone. 
With the last leaves for a love-rosary, 
Whilst all the withered world looks drearily. 

Hood. 

October Twenty-seventh 
Be still, sad heart! and cease repining; 
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining; 
Thy fate is the common fate of all. 
Into each life some rain must fall, 
Some days must be dark and dreary. 

Longfellow. 

October Twenty-eighth 
Full many a gem, of purest ray serene, 

The dark, unfathomed caves of ocean bear; 
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen. 
And waste its sweetness on the desert air. 

Gray. 
October Twenty-ninth 
Walk on, my soul, nor crouch to agony. 
Turn cloud to light, and bitterness to joy. 
And dross to gold with glorious alchemy. 
Basing thy throne above the world's annoy. 

Tennyson. 

[ 105 ] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

x^ >^\ v^v v^K #;x >;v v^v <;v tf< v^v 'ix 'ix 0^ t^x '-^x *^v i;x *;v 

OCTOBES ThIETIETH 

Sadly bend the flowers 

In the heavy rain; 
After beating showers 

Sunbeams come again. 
Little birds are silent 

All the dark night through; 
When the morning dawneth. 

Their songs are sweet and new. 

Hazergal. 



OCTOBEB ThIRTY-FIKST 

Whai a sudden sorrow 

Comes like cloud and night. 
Wait for God's to-morrow. 

All will then be bright. 
Only wait and trust Him 

Just a Httle while ; 
After evening teardrops 

Shall come the momincr smile. 



HavergaiL 



[106] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

>?< >?>c>?«c >?< >j<c>t«c >?< >jv Viv Viv>t«^ /♦v xfi xixTiy x|y x*«i. /^ 



NOVEMBER 



November First 

Be just, and fear not: 
Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, 
Thy God's, and truth's. — Shakespeare. 



November Second 

This fine old world of ours is but a child 
Yet in the go-cart. Patience ! give it time 
To learn its limbs : there is a Hand that guides. 

Tennyson. 



November Third 

Can thy style-discerning eye 
The hidden-working Builder spy. 
Who builds, yet makes no chips, no din. 
With hammer soft as snow-flake's flight; 
Knowest thou this? 

Emerson. 

[107] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

November Fourth 

Were I so tall to reach the pole, 
Or grasp the ocean with my span, 

I must be measured by my soul: 
The mind's the standard of the man. 
Dr. Isaac Watts. 

November Fifth 

What matter though earth's pathways glow 

No more with spring-time gladness? 
What if each June has flown too soon 

And left a look of sadness? 
No real love so true will prove, 

No tones one-half so tender, 
No lips so pure as those which lure 

The soul to visioned splendor. 

Eugene Field. 

November Sixth 

How feels the stone the pang of birth, 
Which brings its sparkling prism forth? 
The forest tree the throb which gives 
The life-blood to its new-born leaves? 
Do bird and blossom feel, like me. 
Life's many-folded mystery, — 
The wonder which it is to he? — Whittier. 

[108] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

November Seventh 

Oh, what a tangled web we weave, 
When first we practice to deceive! 

Scott. 
November Eighth 

O ye whose living is not Life, 
Whose dying is but death, 
Song, empty toil and petty strife. 
Rounded with loss of breath! 
Go, look on Nature's countenance. 
Drink in the blessing of her glance; 
Look on the sunset, hear the wind, 
The cataract, the awful thunder ; 
Go, worship by the sea; 
Then, and then only, shall ye find, 
With ever-growing wonder, 
Man is not all in all to ye. 

Lowell. 
November Ninth 

Go with a meek and humble soul, 
Then shall the scales of self unroll 
From off your eyes — the weary packs 
Drop from your heavy-laden backs; 
And ye shall see, 

With reverent and hopeful eyes, 
Glowing with new-born energies. 
How great a thing is to be! — Lowell, 

[ 109 ] 



y^x «;»: f.» i.v /> /,» *;*«.» #,» *.* T,v 1,1 i.v <^^ >^ At«v v^ vMf>C 

NOTILI^: Z Z Z. T Z > : 7 H 

?:-.::z.z r.:" :^-^t frwn the : : ::.i:.:. : :; ^zz Ir-lj — 

H : :t5 :: : : l before thee liare trod; 
E - r - -: h^ - : T*r blessed exaonple, 

V^'::'^ :::. — :: t z^i h T*^ labor is ample — 

Tr 5 :-g H - 7 g in God! 

JUceCarg. 

X: Z2:zzL Euttexth: 

T'.TrT ? 1.ZI J. ipjj:r::ir or a ^ren, 
E T T 5 not a blade of ant z^n z g r ?. in . 
V - i four seasons d : z : - - ^ z z . 

F.^ zr.i7i be 
A Izi*: tT : . Z- :.ZrT sez. — jt cr/rift/ii/ri. 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

yt^ y^ y^ 'M^ y^ 'j^ y^ 'j^ y^ y^y^y^K y^KW^y^KV^yiKy^K 

November Fourteenth 

/ have been happy, though in a dream. 
I have been happy — and I love the theme: 
Dreams ! in their vivid coloring of life 
As in that fleeting, shadowy, misty strife 
Of semblance with reality which brings 
To the delirious eye, more lovely things 
Of Paradise and Love^ — and all my own ! — 
Than young Hope in his sunniest hour hath 
known. — Poe. 



November Fifteenth 

We shall start up, at last awake 
From Life, that insane dream we take 
For waking now, because it seems. 

Browning. 



November Sixteenth 

Oh, would we rouse from slumber. 
Life hath something to be done ; 

We may lose the prize by faltering, 
Which exertion might have won ; 

And when we strive to help ourselves, 
The Lord will aid us on. 

Phoebe Gary. 

[Ill] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 



v;v v^" 



V 



:3^BZE ^: 



T - 



A'/s well that ends well yet, 
Tiiougfa time seems so adverse, and means imfit. 

Shukfspeare. 

Xoria£BEE Eic-Hnm^xTH 

I would not always reasoii. The straight path 
Wearies us with its never-Tarring lines. 
And we grow mdancholj. I ~ :_' :.\±:r 
Reason my guide, but she s: 
Patiently by the way-side^ ^'. 
The mazes of the pleasant ^ 
Around me. She should be 
But not my tyrant. For the sjpir:-. :. TTi_- 
Impulses from a deeper source than ri s. 
And there are motions, in the ziind of man. 
That she mus: ': :": it: ::. ~:-: ~r I bow 
Reverently to uti oJtCi^i'ei, ;: u: . : es? 
Hold to the fair fflasions of :^£ -:::.i — 
Illusions that shed brightness over life,. 
And glory over nature. — Bryaml. 

NoVEItBEa NrXETOKEKTH 

O for one hour of youthful joy! 

Give back my twoitieth spring! 
Fd rather laogfa a bright-haired boy 

Than reign a gray-beard king! 

Holms. 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 
i^yfKy^y^y^y^y^yj^y^ y^y^ >?< W w >^ y^ v^ v;^ 



November Twentieth 

Beauties in vain their pretty eyes may roll ; 

the s 
Pope. 



Beauties in vain their pretty eyes may roll ; s. 
f Charms strike the sight, but merit wins the soul. I 



November Twenty-first 

What is beauty? Not the Show 

Of shapely Limbs and Features. No. 

These are but flowers 

That have their dated hours 
To breathe their momentary Sweets, then go. 

'Tis the stainless Soul within 

That outshines the fairest Skin. 

Sir A. Hunt. 

November Twenty-second 

Thank God ! that I have lived to see the time 
When the great truth begins at last to find 
An utterance from the deep heart of man- 
kind, 

Earnest and clear, that all Revenge is Crime! 

That man is holier than a creed, — that all 
Restraint upon him must consult his good, 

Hope's sunshine linger on his prison wall. 
And Love look in upon his solitude. 

Whit tier. 

[113] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

>4X y^x >tx >;v Mix >♦* >♦< >t* >♦* >f^ 'i^ 'f^ >*^ '♦v ^A ^♦^ ^♦'*^ ^f^ 

XOVEMBEE TwEXTY-THIED 

Let US. then, be up and doing. 
With a heart for anv fate : 

Still achieving, still pursuing. 
Learn to labor and to wait. 

Longfello'x. 

XOTEMBEE TwEXTY-EOUETH 

Blest be those feasts with simple plenty crowu'd, 
Where all the ruddv family round 
Laugh at the jests or pranks that never fail, 
Or sigh with pity at some mournful tale. 
Or press the bashful stranger to his food, 
Ana icarn the luxury of doino" ^ood I 

Goldsmith. 

XoVEMBEE TWENTY-EIETH 

Alas for him who never sees 

The stars shine through his cypress-trees ! 

Who. hopeless, lays his dead away, 
Xor looks to see the breaking day 
Across the nioumful marbles play! 
Who hath not learned, in hours of faith. 

The truth *o f.esh :'.::! sense unknown, — 
That Life is ever lord of Death. 

And Love can never lose its own I 

Whitti^r. 

[114] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

November Twenty-sixth 

Meet is it changes should control 
Our being, lest we rust in ease. 
We all are changed by still degrees. 

All but the basis of the soul. 

Tennyson. 

November Twenty-seventh 
Cowards die many times before their deaths ; 
The valiant never taste of death but once. 
Of all the wonders that I yet have heard. 
It seems to me most strange that men should 

fear; 
Seeing that death, a necessary end, 
Will come when it will come. — Shakespeare, 

November Twenty-eighth 
So live, that when thy summons comes to join 
The innumerable caravan, that moves 
To that mysterious realm, where each shall take 
His chamber in the silent halls of death. 
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night. 
Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and 

soothed 
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, 
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch 
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. 

Bryant. 

[115] 



r 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 
W w >?< wv viv vjv y^ >;v >?<>?*( W >^ v^r >;< v?v w >?< v^ 

November Twenty-ninth 

When the fight begins within himself, 
A man's worth something. 

Browning. 

November Thirtieth 

If I have faltered more or less 
In my great task of happiness ; 
If I have moved among my race 
And shown no glorious morning face ; 
If beams from happy hmnan eyes 
Have moved me not ; if morning skies, 
Books, and my food, and summer rain 
Knocked on my sullen heart in vain : — 
Lord, thy most pointed pleasure take 
And stab my spirit broad awake; 
Or, Lord, if too obdurate I, 
Choose thou, before that spirit die 
A piercing pain, a killing sin. 
And to my dead heart run them in! 

Stevenson. 



[116] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

W vj< Viv v^ y(K vjv wit< v?< v?< Vi< >?< w >^: v}< >{< >t< v;;<>t? 



DECEMBER 

December First 

The Sun will run his orbit, and the Moon 
Her circle. Wait, and Love himself will bring 
The drooping flower of knowledge changed to 

fruit 
Of wisdom. Wait: my faith is large in Time, 
And that which shapes it to some perfect end. 

Tennyson. 



December Second 

Spring still makes spring in the mind, 

When sixty years are told ; 

Love wakes anew this throbbing heart, 

And we are never old. 

Over the winter glaciers, 

I see the summer glow 

And through the wild-piled snowdrift 

The warm rosebuds below. 

Emerson. 

[117] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

w w w w Hv 'M^^^y^i^ Hv w w >?< w yi< w viv w w 

December Third 

What's the earth 
With all its art, verse, music worth — 
Compared with love, found, gained, and kept? 

Browning. 

December Fourth 

Only a sweet and virtuous soul, 
Like seasoned timber, never gives; 
But, though the whole world turn to coal, 
Then chiefly lives. 

George Herbert, 

December Fifth 

How happy is he, born or taught, 
That serveth not another's will ; 

Whose armor is his honest thought. 
And simple truth his utmost skill ! 

Sir Henry Wotton. 

December Sixth 

Would you be happy, be the thing you seem, 
And sure you now possess the world's esteem; 
For know — ^the bliss in our judgment lies, 
And none are happy but the good and wise. 

Horace. 

[118] 



1 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 
1^ y^ }^ y^ 1^ 1^ }^ y^K /^ y^ }^ 1^ y^ '^ 

December Seventh 

Men should be what they seem ; 
Or, those that be not, would they might seem 
none. — Shakespeare. 

December Eighth 

Onward its course the present keeps, 
Onward the constant current sweeps. 
Till life is done; 

And, did we judge of time aright. 
The past and future in their flight 
Would be as one. — Longfellow. 

December Ninth 

Thus, in this feverish time, when love of gain 
And luxury possess the hearts of men. 
Thus is it with the noon of human life. 
We, in our fervid manhood, in our strength 
Of reason, we, with hurry,,noise, and care. 
Plan, toil, and strive, and pause not to refresh 
Our spirits with the calm and beautiful 
Of God's harmonious universe, that won 
Our youthful wonder ; pause not to inquire 
Why we are here; and what the reverence 
Man owes to man, and what the mystery 
That links us to the greater world, beside 
Whose borders we but hover for a space. 

Bryant. 



.l^'^*^V-T-^ --^ 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

yiK>l<'MPKj^ yjv )4< ViV x^\ y(< x^\ y^ y^x >^ x^x xif< mIk y^ y^K 

December Tenth 

Good nature and good sense must ever join — 
To err is human; to forgive, divine. 

Pope. 

December Eleventh 

Did we but use it as we ought, 

This world would school each wandering thought 

To its high state. 
Faith wings the soul beyond the sky. 
Up to that better world on high. 

For which we wait. — Longfellow. 

December Twelfth 

Why stretch beyond our proper sphere 

And age for that which lies so near? 

Why climb the far-off hills with pain, 

A nearer view of heaven to gain ? 

In lowliest depths of bosky dells 

The hermit Contemplation dwells. 

A fountain's pine-hung slope his seat, 

And lotus-twined his silent feet. 

When, piercing heaven with screened sight. 

He sees at noon the stars, whose light 

Shall glorify the coming night. 

Whit tier, 

[ 120 ] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

>jir>K W y^wr^ff^y^y^ w^ Wt^ >^ y^ w W w v^c v^' 

December Thirteenth 

Give me a staff of honor for mine age, 
But not a sceptre to control the world. 

Shakespeare. 

December Fourteenth 

O Father ! grant Thy love divine 
To make these mystic temples Thine ! 
When wasting age and wearying strife 
Have sapped the leading walls of life, 
When darkness gathers over all, 
And the last tottering pillars fall, 
Take the poor dust Thy mercy warms. 
And mould it into heavenly forms ! 

Holmes. 

December Fifteenth 

Life ! we've been long together. 

Through pleasant and through cloudy weather ; 

'Tis hard to part when friends are dear. 

Perhaps will cost a sigh, a tear; 

Then steal away, give little warning ; 

Choose thine own time; 

Say not "Good-night" ; but in some brighter 
clime 
Bid me "Good-morning.'' 

Anna Letitia Barbauld. 

[121] 



\ 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

W W W V^V >?v y^ >?K >?x yjK >?^>^c W >^• W >;< W W W 

Decembee Sixteenth 

If I stoop 
Into a dark tremendous sea of cloud. 
It is but for a time ; I press God's lamp 
Close to my breast; its splendor, soon or late. 
Will pierce the gloom : I shall emerge one day. 

Browning. 

December Seventeenth 

Within each heart there lies apart 

From all its cares and sorrows, 
A paradise which knows no sighs, 

A world of happy morrows; 
A heaven of light, unknown to blight 

Of winter, bleak and dreary, 
Whose days are long and sweet with song, 

Whose hours are never weary. 

Eugene Field, 

December Eighteenth 

Evil springs up, and flowers, and bears no seed. 
And feeds the green earth with its swift decay, 
Leaving it richer for the growth of truth; 
But Good, once put in action or in thought. 
Like a strong oak, doth from its boughs shed 

do^ra 
The ripe germs of a forest. — Lowell. 

[ 122] 



\ 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

>ix x^x y]^\ xix x^x x^x y^x y^K x^ x?k xi< x^ >?^ >?*c x*k x^ x*x )*^ 

December Nineteenth 
O thriftlessness of dream and guess! 
O wisdom which is f ooHshness ! 
Why idly seek from outward things 
The answer inward silence brings. 

Whit tier. 

December Twentieth 
Speak to Him, thou, for He hears, and Spirit 

with Spirit can meet — 
Closer is He than breathing, and nearer than 

hands and feet. — Tennyson. 

December Twenty-first 
Revere thy Maker; fetch thine eye 
Up to His style, and manners of the sky. 

Emerson. 

December Twenty-second 
Oh, they but mock us with a hollow lie. 

Who made this goodly land a vale of tears ; 
For if the soul hath immortality, 

This is the infancy of deathless years. 

And if we live as God has given us power, 
Heaven is begun: no blind fatality 

Can shut the living soul from its high dower 
Of shaping out a glorious destiny ! 

Alice Cary. 

[ 123 ] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

>tx x^\ >4X y^v xt< >*^ ^fV >fV y^y >+v y+v /^x y^v y^y >4V v^v >^x >^ 

Dece?.ibee Twexty-thied 

Call him not old, whose visionary brain 
Holds o'er the past its undivided reign. 
For him in vain the en^-ious seasons roll 
Who bears eternal summer in his soul. 

Hohius, 
December TwEXTY-EoruxH 

We call our sorrows destmy. but ought 
Rather to name our high successes so. 
Only the instincts of great souls are Fate, 
And have predestined sway : all other things, 
Except by leave of us, could never be. 
For Destiny is but the breath of God 
Still moving in us, the last fragment left 
Of our unfallen nature, waking oft 
Within our thought to beckon us beyond 
The narrow circle of the seen and known, 
And always tending to a noble end. 

Loivell, 
December Twexty-eifth 

Christ is come to be my Friend, 
Leading, losing to the end; 
Christ is come to be my King, 
Ordering, ruling everything. 
Christ is come! Enough for me. 
Lonely though the pathway be. 

Haver gal, 

[124] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

y^ y|< >l*c HV v^y >|< 'a\ x^x x^x >^>i^viv y|< y^v y^y y^y >;< >;5c 

December Twenty-sixth 

Subsists no law of life outside of life. 
No perfect manners without Christian souls ; 
The Christ himself had been no law-giver 
Unless he had given the life, too, with the law. 

E. B. Browning. 

December Twenty-seventh 

Thee, dear friend, a brother soothes, 
Not with flatteries, but truths. 
Which tarnish not, but purify 
To light which dims the morning's eye. 

Emerson. 

December Twenty-eighth 

O Love Divine, that stooped to share 
Our sharpest pang, our bitterest tear. 

On Thee we cast each earth-born care. 
We smile at pain while Thou art near. 

Holmes. 

December Twenty-ninth 

Lo ! I have given thee 
To understand my presence, and to feel 
My fulness: I have filled thy lips with power. 
I have raised thee nigher to the spheres of 

heaven, 
Man's first, last home. — Tennyson. 

[ 125 ] 



FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 

y^j^/^y^y^'MlK >?irw w W A^ /|x xiv yjv v|y v^ w >|< 

December Thirtieth 

When Time who steals our years away 

Shall steal our pleasures too, 
The memory of the past will stay, 

And half our joys renew. 
Then talk no more of future gloom; 

Our joys shall always last; 
For Hope shall brighten days to come, 

And Memory gild the past. 

Moore. 

December Thirty-first 

Hope, like the glimmering taper's light. 

Adorns and cheers the way ; 
And still, as darker grows the night, 

Emits a brighter ray. 

Goldsmith. 

Gently, and without grief, the old shall glide 
Into the new ; the eternal flow of things, 
Like a bright river of the fields of heaven. 
Shall journey onward in perpetual peace. 

Bryant. 



THE END 



[126] 



-MMfem^diyi^iy 



JUl 13 1911 



One copy del. to Cat. Div. 
^^l 13 19// 



